Parish Ministry

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Written by: Laura Cerbus

I have found my familiarity with Scripture to be a double edged sword. Not in the sense, as the saying goes, that familiarity breeds contempt, but in the sense that the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge means when he speaks of the  “film of familiarity.” A film, or thin veil, can cover my eyes  and my ears so that I “have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear  not, and [a heart] that neither feel[s] or understand[s].”

This film of familiarity makes it easy to read without really  noticing—or, to read in a way that reinforces what I  already believe or imagine or desire, rather than allowing  the Scriptures to transform me. I look in the mirror of  God’s word, but a quick glance, one that assumes I already  know what I will find, causes me to miss what it was  reflecting back to me. I have no expectations that what I  will encounter in the text may be different than I expect.

One such text, I suspect for many, are the stories of  Advent-tide. Part of our cultural as well as our religious  traditions, these stories are easily obscured by our  familiarity with them. When we are captive to this kind of  familiarity, we need something to wipe away the film, to  clear our eyes and ears so that we can encounter the text  in new ways. The surprise encounter can do this work,  jolting us out of inattention to awareness.

In the moment of surprise, we are confronted with a  reality that is different from what we had believed or  thought to be true. In response, we must choose whether  to alter or revise our ways of thinking.

Art, particularly artistic representations of the stories of  Scripture, can be a valuable means of aesthetic surprise.

Art can confront its audience with a way of imagining the  text that challenges their assumptions or ideas. One example, for me, is the painting of Noah’s ark by  sixteenth century artist Simon de Myle. My encounter with  it gave me a jolt of surprise. And although not obviously a  painting that represents the stories of Advent, it prompted  reflection and shifted the way I imagine anticipation for  the coming of Christ.

At first glance, the busy scene is familiar. The moment  portrayed is one after the flood waters recede and the ark  comes to rest on Mount Ararat. Birds swarm in the sky  over the ark, animals make their way down the ramp, and  more animals cover the dry land around the ark, no doubt  stretching their legs and enjoying relief from their long  confinement. Several human figures do the same.  And then—as I take a closer look—I see several animals  splayed out on the ground. They are not sleeping, but  dead. And then, to my horror, I realise that one, a horse, is  prey: the painting shows the moment that a lion bites into  its stomach.  

The surprise comes from the shocking difference between  de Myle’s portrayal of this moment and the many other  portrayals I have seen. Here, there is no idyllic harmony,  no optimism for an earth cleansed after the flood.  Immediately—some creatures are still embarking—one  animal preys on another.

On further reflection I think that these dead animals are,  likely, casualties of the flood. De Myle has confronted his  observer’s imaginations not only with the company of  animals spared on the ark, but also those left to  destruction. It is a sobering surprise—a moment in which  I realise how often these animals are absent from the  retelling of this story, and how often we neglect the  relationship between animal and human worlds, in which  human sin, demonstrated clearly in Noah’s celebratory  drunkenness, has consequences for the entire creation.

Through the skill and creativity of de Myle, I have been  struck, surprised—and as a result, my imagination is  challenged, and I see a familiar text in a new way. Particularly during this Advent season, as I imagine the  world which “Long lay...in sin and error pining,” do I  imagine the animals, too, longing for Christ’s coming? Do  I imagine them to be also crying out, “Come, Lord Jesus,” as they wait for the final end to the curse that has bound  them to humanity’s corruption?

Too easily we limit the scope of Christ’s redemptive work  to ourselves, to humanity. However, as Paul insists, “the  whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of  childbirth” (Rom. 8:22). This includes the animals, as de  Myle’s imagined scene communicates. They, too, suffer  under the curse, and they, too, find redemption through  Christ the ark (Rom. 8:21).

I think of the many nativity scenes that include field and  stable animals. Cows, horses, goats, sheep, sometimes  others, are present, although none of the Gospel  narratives mention them. In those scenes, peace reigns, as  “ox and ass before him bow.” It is easy to forget, though, that although Christ’s coming heralded this peace, it is not  yet accomplished. We still wait, all creation still waits, for  its consummation.

In one sense, the waiting of the Advent season precludes  surprise: we remember Christ’s first coming, and we  expect his second. But for the characters of the Advent  and Christmas stories, surprise plays an important role.

Mary is amazed at the announcement that Gabriel brings  her; the shepherds are astonished at the chorus of angels  that illuminates their sleepy night watch. Herod, too, is  caught off guard at the news of the Magi that a king has  been born right under his nose. Jesus’s birth, particularly  the means and circumstances, confronted these characters  with incredible news that they had not expected.

Yet, surprise does not compel. The news of Jesus’s birth  comes to each one with the weight of the unexpected, and  their responses vary. For Herod, the surprise further  entrenches him in his pride and spiritual blindness. Others, however, express an openness to what they had not  anticipated.

Aesthetic surprise works in the same way. De Myle’s  painting does not force the observer into one,  predetermined or correct response. Nor can we  manufacture surprise. It is a gift of grace that comes  unbidden and undeserved. Yet we can, especially at  Advent, prepare ourselves to receive such a gift.

Consider seeking out art for the Advent season as a way to  reimagine the stories that may have become obscured by a  “film of familiarity.” Jane Williams’ book The Art of  Advent provides a painting and a reflection for each day  from Advent to Epiphany. Biola University offers an  Advent devotional resource that combines art, Scripture,  and a written devotion.

Here, attentiveness is more important than novelty. It is  the Spirit, after all, who enables us to encounter texts in  new and fresh ways. In all of our reading, both of visual  and of written texts, we should cultivate hearts that are  humbly expectant, ready to yield to God and believe that who he is and what he is doing cannot be plumbed.

Laura Cerbus is a teacher, writer, and PhD candidate in Theology at Trinity College Theological School.  During her time in Melbourne she has been involved in the Evangelical Women in Academia group. Her  desire is to help students delight in texts of literature, Scripture, and theology, in order to  develop wonder and awe at the beauty, goodness, and truth of God’s world and of God himself.

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Written by: Chris Porter

“What to do with the humble parish?” Why do we seem to be so entrenched within ideas of “my parish” or “their church?” Why do parishioners identify as more “members of the Parish of St Aethelredstone” rather than as “Anglican,” and why may they identify with their parish in opposition to say the Parish of St Cuthbertstonwick? [names changed to protect the guilty everywhere] Setting aside the ecclesiological and pastoral specifics of Anglican parishes, I want to consider here the sociological challenges of the parish, for these sociological challenges lie at the heart of a wide variety of present questions for our church. While the questions of parish boundaries, church mergers, church planting, minster models, evangelism, normativity, and diversity, all have theological, ecclesiological, and pastoral dimensions, their sociological aspects are often left uninterrogated. Therefore, here I want to consider these social aspects and how they may contribute to our understanding of parish life.

For all of the other services of the parish one of the most significant is the social group which is formed around the parish, one for which those within the parish—and those attending from outside—find their identity. Parishioners are not merely “Jane” or “John,” but “Jane member of Parish X.” The formation of these social identities around the parish structure are sociologically one of its greatest strengths—and I would also argue its greatest weakness.

Leaving aside specifically Christian aspects of the parish, and the appropriate benefits of public worship etc—as these will logically continue with or without parish boundaries—we may consider the great benefits of social groups to be also applicable to the social group of the parish. Individuals who identify with a social group are more likely to engage with the work of that group—in this case the work of the parish—which in turn is more  likely to impact on their own personal identity and sense of belonging within the social group—the church.

Formally we can understand “social identity … as that part of the individuals’ self- concept which derives from their knowledge of their membership of a social group together with the value and emotional significance attached to that membership” (Tajfel, 1982: 2). As Christians we value this identity structure, especially as it is positively correlated with other social items such as belonging, behaviour change, self-value, etc. Indeed, as we can see with civil parishes, and other local social enterprises such as “Good-Karma” Facebook groups, this desire for social connection and engagement is also highly sought after and valued in our broader community.

However, it is this same desire for social engagement and identity which is perhaps also its greatest Achilles heel. For with strong identity structures, comes the challenge of what is technically termed as “positive distinctiveness.” That is the challenge for a social group to be sufficiently different from other competing social groups such that members feel attracted to and can identify with their specific social group over and above other groups. This is especially the case where those competing social groups are normatively and geographically close, and in these cases “positive distinctiveness” will often require exclusive claims about one’s own social group, and similarly denigrating claims regarding others nearby. For example, the members of the Parish of St Cuthbertstonwick may pride themselves on their liturgical style and support their own sense of belonging in that parish by referring the members of the Parish of St Aethelredstone as “Aethelredstoners” and generating negative appellations regarding their musical preferences.

This is further exacerbated in situations where near neighbours share the same normative belief and identity structures, as the demands of positive distinctiveness require sharper invective to create points of division. As Lewis Coser observed “A conflict is more passionate and more radical when it arises out of close relationships. The coexistence of union and opposition in such relations makes for the peculiar sharpness of the conflict. Enmity calls forth deeper and more violent reactions, the greater the involvement of the parties among whom it originates”

(1998, 71).

Is this a good argument then for the abolition of parish boundaries, to remove the competition for positive distinctiveness? While this may seem like a logical way of reducing these challenges and uniting the church around a single focus for distinctiveness, unfortunately it only leads to further competition. For as groups cease to have avenues for generating positive distinctiveness outside of the groups the natural place to derive distinctiveness is within the group. This is usually seen through internal perceptions that certain members are not sufficiently normative, or somehow abrogate what some members consider the “core” identity of the group, despite remaining within the group. Indeed, this can be clearly observed within the Good Karma Network phenomenon, as, a couple of years into the project, large numbers of these neighbourhood groups devolved into schismatic fractures over internal accusations of members not upholding the norms of the groups, and significant disagreement over what these norms are, and their relative importance. Similar examples are found in civil parishes— and especially their American counterpart, the Homeowner Association. Lest we think that the church is immune from such debates one need only look at the plethora of churches which have split over musical styles, modes of preaching, or a host of other disputed norms. Schisms and the exclusion of members as black sheep for not being normative enough are part and parcel of group existence.

So far this seems to be a fairly dismal view of parish life: conflict with or without boundaries. Are there any avenues out of this social quagmire? Perhaps somewhat ironically the same ecclesial inheritance that gave the Anglican church the parish structure has also provided a resource for addressing the impetus towards division for positive distinctiveness: episcopal structures. While evangelical Anglicanism tends toward a congregational—and parish— emphasis, the proven mechanism for defusing schism within groups is to direct social impetus towards finding social distinctiveness within larger groups, rather than the smaller immediate—local—group. Indeed, theologically, this is the purpose of the church universal.

How then can we leverage these oft-denigrated structures towards that bigger theological vision and social purpose? A significant part of this is the need for a distinctive vision for the larger structure to inhabit. What is the purpose of the episcopacy? What is a diocese for? But, as part of that vision for there to be positive distinctiveness of the whole, there must be a similar allowance of diversity within the subgroups which make up the superordinate, the parishes which constitute a diocese, the churches which contribute to the denomination—lest there be a devolution to solely finding distinctiveness in the local. Such that the Parishes of St Cuthbertstonwick and St Aethelredstone can engage in that same vision side by side. This vision setting and diversity of engagement can find a wide range of expressions and outcomes, and while it is well beyond the scope of this piece to provide a singular answer, we can find a series of biblical and historical examples for inspiration. Indeed, one example is given by Scott Goode’s examination of 1 Corinthians, where he finds Paul organising that nascent church around the framework of “Salvific Intentionality” that allows for both coherent missional imagination alongside diversity in the Corinthian community (review in this issue).

Ultimately the overriding question about the parish is not whether it stays or whether it goes, but rather what should we look to as a means to present an encompassing vision to unify the church around, with or without historical geographical and social boundaries?

Rev Dr Chris Porter is Post-Doctoral Research Fellow at Trinity College Theological School.

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Written by: Tracy Lauersen

I led a parish in a country town in Victoria from 2018-2023. I loved it. It was a growing tree-change town an hour from Melbourne off the Monash motorway in Gippsland. Originally a wealthy dairy farming and regional hub, it was experiencing something of an identity change as the dairy farmers sold off and as young families bought up plots of land, city professionals sought an alternative lifestyle on hobby farms and retirees downsized from city dwellings to country digs with large gardens and chickens. The parish was over a hundred years old and there were some amazing old saints in their 80’s who had been in the church since their infancy. The parish had an 8am prayer book service, a 9.45am contemporary family service and an occasional evening youth service. There was a smallish youth group (12 or so) and quite a large children’s ministry. During my time as Rector, we worked on our parish vision and a five-year strategy, we weathered the lockdown years and worked to build up the youth and children’s ministry.

Read more: Writing The Future of the Parish in Growing Country Towns

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Written by: James Hornby

I landed in Launceston in 2017 to begin as Rector of St John’s and joined a Diocese that has an incredible vision ‘to be a Church for Tasmania making disciples of Jesus.’ My problem wasn’t ‘what’; it was ‘how’. How would we take that vision and, under God, attempt to see that come to pass in our little neck of the woods? It became clear we weren’t alone in that wondering. Nine other Anglican churches across greater Launceston were wrestling with the same. That’s right, ten Anglican churches across a regional city. Where I’m from, given the population, that sounded like a lot. And these other nine, like us, were largely struggling to reach people with the good news of Jesus. Faithful in worship. Absent (almost) in mission, Struggling with discipleship. I’m sure not an isolated story.

A year later, I’d been meeting with a small group of visionary, strategic Anglicans, representing several churches and an idea emerged. What if we came together? Our collective response was ‘Impossible!’ If there’s one thing true about Tasmania, it’s how parochial we are. But the idea wouldn’t go away. A nurse doing her PhD offered us the latest demographic data from her research, and the idea began to take shape. I met with all the local clergy, and together, choosing to put aside any differences for the sake of the Kingdom, we developed a strategic approach to future Anglican ministry in Launceston and surrounds.

Read more: The Future of Multi-site Churches

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Written by: Matt Williams

“The system is breaking. Let it break. Your first job is to ensure it doesn’t break you. Then stick around to help us build the new one.”

It seems a bit pompous to begin an article quoting myself, but I do so to illustrate that this has been going on for some time.

Back when the Diocese of Melbourne invested in a solid program for equipping new Priests-in-Charge of parishes (EPIC) they used to invite me back for some frank talk with my colleagues. I always said something along these lines.

Let it break. Your first job is to ensure it doesn’t break you.

The overall structure of our church is not fit for purpose. In many ways, we still have a nineteenth-century structure attempting to satisfy twenty-first century compliance demands. The inevitable result of this is a failure to comply, massive inefficiencies in resource allocation, and the burnout of many of those trying to hold things together in the interim with string and spreadsheets.

Let it break. Your first job is to ensure it doesn’t break you.

We should notice that we’re not alone here. This issue is not peculiar to the church. It’s a widespread problem in professional vocations – education, health, and social workers are all drowning in it, vocationally disoriented, burning out, and leaving in droves.

The whole approach of society to risk is to imagine that everything could have been prevented if only another piece of paper had been filled out. So, each time something goes wrong somewhere sometime; the paperwork and mental load is increased for everyone everywhere all the time.

This is unsustainable. Something bigger must come eventually, in the break of this whole system and the approach of our society to risk management. The pendulum is swinging to maximal red tape.

Let it break. Your first job is to ensure it doesn’t break you.

And yet, the problem in the church is worse. Because even if that pendulum swings back to a reasonable centre, our structures are still not fit for purpose.

Let us speak frankly, for the time is short. These are our problems:

1. We do not have an alignment of responsibility, visibility, and capacity to act.
2. We cannot create that alignment with a heavily decentralised system, which is what we have.
3. Parishes do not trust the centre enough to allow it to centralise.
4. The centre does not have the visibility of the parishes to centralise competently.
5. Therefore the work of bearing responsibility is shafted onto vicars; the work of being the conduit of visibility is shafted onto vicars; and all expectations of action are shafted onto vicars.
6. Vicars have not been selected or trained for anything like that skill set.

These are problems which have proved intractable for a long time. This is not something solved by pat answers, like “just preach the gospel”. We need strategic managerial reform, because bad management hinders gospel preaching. We need, in a word, centralisation.

But can we trust our centre to competently centralise? From a long history of past performance and false starts, not really.

To break this impasse, we need to solve the fourth problem, and then use that to solve the third. We need to engineer systems that build visibility of parish life to the centre. Then – and only then - parishes should hand the centre trust to take over safety, compliance and property management tasks based upon that visibility. If the centre can truly see them, we might believe they can actually do them, and let go.

The order is important. Centralising before visibility will fail to solve the problem and damage trust further, because the centre will be working blind, and we will both fall into a pit.

If we can achieve those two things, building a virtuous circle of central competence and parish trust, a world of good can break out. Management tasks will disappear from vicar’s heads, they will be vocationally realigned, spend more time on the things they are trained for and passionate about, and more missionally effective.

The people responsible for things will be able to see if they are actually doing them right down to the parish level, through a series of reports.

And so responsibility, visibility, and capacity to act will belong to the same people, those people will be selected and trained for those tasks, and they won’t be the vicars.

That’s the dream. But the reality will be bumpier than that. Real people doing real jobs make real mistakes. Parishes are notoriously suspicious of giving up power. And this is definitely that.

But it’s the only way out. We must support and encourage the centralisation of safety, compliance and property management tasks – even if our own parish can currently do it better than the centre.

We must encourage and honour those doing the slog work of compliance for us, not allowing them to be invisible.

We must use our power to strengthen others, rather than to think of our power as something to be grasped.

Huh. Sounds like someone else I know. Perhaps the solution lies in preaching the gospel after all.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus… Philippians 2:5

 Rev'd Canon Matt Williams is the Vicar at St James' Old Cathedral, Melbourne West

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Written by: Richard Condie

The Anglican Church has for a long time held an audacious aspiration to reach the whole world with the gospel through the Parish system. Dividing up a diocese into a patchwork of joined geographic units, so that everywhere was “someone’s responsibility” has been a remarkable vision. It demonstrates a gospel commitment to the world, not just to the faithful who gather in church buildings each Sunday.

In Tasmania this has been a such a gift. Someone is looking out for people’s spiritual welfare in the remote and sparsely populated regions of the west coast, just as much as the battler suburbs of northern Hobart. But the traditional model of the Parish, with the priest dispensing the weekly word and sacraments and expecting people to come is not a model that meets the mission needs of the 21st Century.

Read more: Parish Renewal in Tasmania