‘Dr James Armstrong, Your Grace.’
As the housekeeper announced James’ arrival, the Archdeacon raised his eyes from the crossword of the Daily Telegraph and rose from his armchair to greet him. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Armstrong,’ he intoned in a mellow voice, extending a long, bony hand to James.
‘James,’ he responded, firmly shaking the proffered hand as the Archdeacon nodded. Taking one of the comfortable armchairs gestured to by his host, James took a moment to study the room. It was obviously a study, with books of varying ages crammed onto floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined two-thirds of the walls. An old oak desk, strewn with paper, stood in front of a patio window, beyond which he could see part of a tree-lined lawn demarcated by a herbaceous border. More books sat piled on the floor next to another of the several armchairs, whilst a copy of the Church Times had been placed, neatly folded, on an occasional table to the right of the Archdeacon’s chair. A pipe lay to one side, a slight spill of ash, a leather tobacco pouch and a gold lighter indicating that it was still in use. On the mantle-shelf, a small, black, leather-bound bible had been placed beneath a wall-mounted crucifix and – finishing the scene rather splendidly, thought James – an old, golden Labrador languished on the fireside rug, its soft, brown eyes surveying him with half-hearted interest over a greying muzzle, whilst its tail gave the only sign of welcome in the form of a slow, twitching movement.
A gentle knock on the door as the housekeeper entered with a tea tray focused his mind back on the Venerable Paul Swinburn, Archdeacon of the East Riding of Yorkshire. A tall, slim man with silvery-grey hair, he was dressed semi-officially, his clerical collar partially hidden by a baggy tweed cardigan. James tried to hazard a guess at his age, but decided he could be anywhere between a prematurely ageing fifty-something to a well-preserved seventy. He had a timelessness about him that matched that of his study. Perhaps the effect of ordination, mused James to himself.
‘Thank you,’ he said, accepting the china cup of tea offered to him by the Archdeacon.
‘So, James, Michael told me a little about you when he rang last week. Perhaps you would like to fill in the details?’ With that, the Archdeacon sat back in his chair and sipped his tea.
The problem, James thought, as he returned the Archdeacon’s thoughtful gaze, is quite where to begin. Should he start with the conversation he had two weeks ago with the Reverend Michael Ewing, vicar of St Peter’s Parish Church in Barminster; or begin to explain how he had, many years ago, been a chorister in his old parish church in Kent and subsequently at one of the Chapels Royal in London, where his religious convictions had first been developed to the depth they now were; or should he broach on his recent, but growing, sense of general unrest with his life?
‘Michael was most helpful,’ he said, noticing the Archdeacon’s cue and deciding to encapsulate his present thoughts rather than analyse their background. ‘Perhaps I should relate my conversation with him? I think that will summarise matters rather well.’ A gentle nodding from the Archdeacon encouraged him to continue. ‘Michael has been a great source of inspiration to me over the past few years. I first met him in 1987 shortly after I moved to Barminster and started to attend the services at St Peter’s. In my opinion, he is the type of priest who represents what the Church of England should be about. He manages to portray piety with dignity, yet at the same time is able to converse freely with his parishioners about mundane secular matters. I also like the fact that he still uses the Book of Common Prayer for some services.’
As James paused for a sip of tea, the Archdeacon reached for his pipe and slowly refilled the bowl from the tobacco pouch. He had murmured appreciatively at James’ last remark, as though he, too, regretted the present, somewhat superficial, direction the modern Church of England was taking.
‘I qualified in medicine in 1985 and have spent the past four years or so completing the post-graduate work required to enter General Practice,’ continued James. ‘Officially I can become a principal as from the end of this month, although I have yet to find a practice in an area I wish to live.’
‘Where would that be?’ asked the Archdeacon.
‘Ideally a market town in North Yorkshire.’
‘So what will you do at the end of January?’
‘I have the offer of some locum work in a practice in Bishopsworth in Lincolnshire, although I am not too certain for how long that will last. Fortunately, I shall still be able to live in Barminster and travel each day.’
James was aware that he had been talking for some time and had yet to speak of the very matter for which he was there. He decided to stop perambulating around the subject and dive straight in.
‘The problem is that for some time now I have had a growing sense that medicine is not the whole answer. I have always wanted to be a doctor; my father says I wanted to be a GP when I was eight years old. However, now that I have arrived, I am not convinced that I have achieved the final hurdle to make me satisfied with what I can offer. I still feel somewhat incomplete.’ He paused and glanced anxiously towards the Archdeacon. ‘I hope I am making some sense?’
The Archdeacon, with the stem of his pipe firmly clamped between his teeth, could only nod through a haze of aromatic smoke.
‘This is where my conversation with Michael really began,’ continued James. ‘As time has gone on I have had the growing realisation that I would like to be a priest. At first, I ignored the idea as it would have meant a major diversion in life and I would have felt that I had wasted the past ten years since I first started studying medicine. However, I then came across the concept of non-stipendiary ministry. There is such a priest at St Peter’s… as you will, of course, be aware.’
The Archdeacon again gently nodded. At the time of his original conversation with the Reverend Ewing, James knew nothing of NSMs, as non-stipendiary ministers were known. He had been interested to learn that they were men who studied for the ministry, often on a part-time basis, and, once ordained, pursued their ministry through their place of work or within other areas of the community. They were not necessarily tied into a particular parish and did not receive a stipend from the Church or elsewhere for their ministry. Indeed, the work of NSMs had at sometime been described in the style of an advertisement for a famous alcoholic drink: ‘They minister where other ministries cannot reach!’
James went on to explain how he often felt that being a doctor or, more precisely, being a general medical practitioner meant trying to be three people at once. He had this developing notion that the role frequently called for such a person to be part physician, part priest and part social worker. Indeed, the training for General Practice instilled into each young doctor the need to consider a person’s problems from a physical, psychological and social perspective. The psychological part presented the most difficulties and was where he felt that pure science often left both patient and physician unfulfilled. All too often, he had found his consultations drifting onto theological grounds, often being led along by the patient in front of him. Perhaps in past times such patients would have taken these particular problems to their parish priest rather than to their doctor?
‘I think I have a deep-seated faith and am quite comfortable with those beliefs, with no problem discussing such matters. However, at times I have to extricate myself from such territory, conscious that for a doctor to be too easily discussing matters of religion within a professional setting could be construed, by some people, as “quirky”. However, then I had a thought. What if that doctor was also an ordained priest? Then, perhaps, it wouldn’t present such an ethical dilemma? The boundaries between medical science and religion could be happily blurred, hopefully assisting the patient to a greater extent than was otherwise achievable, whilst allowing the doctor to retain a professional reputation.’
He paused and drank some tea whilst waiting for the Archdeacon to respond. In the event, he did not.
‘So,’ continued James, ‘the realisation that I could be ordained as a non-stipendiary priest and continue in my main role as a doctor – indeed, often operate in both capacities at the same time – filled me with great excitement. I discussed my ideas with Michael and it was he who suggested that I should come and talk to you. I have to confess that I am not really sure how I proceed from here.’
James looked anxiously towards the Archdeacon. Had his words made any sense at all? How did this senior cleric view his ideas? Was he going to be told that he was speaking a lot of nonsense? Was he about to be advised to stick with what he already knew and leave religion to those for whom it was the sole vocation in life?
Placing his pipe in a wooden stand, the Archdeacon stood and walked across to the patio windows. There he remained for a while, gazing out on to the wintry scene. The Labrador rose stiffly and left its place by the hearth to join him, gently nuzzling his left hand with its nose, an action rewarded by an absent-minded fondling of its ears.
‘One is immediately reminded of Luke the Evangelist, who was, of course, the physician who accompanied St Paul on many of his journeys. It would not be the first time that the two disciplines of medicine and theology were united in one person.’
‘You don’t think I am being presumptive?’ The Archdeacon turned and smiled. ‘Good gracious, not for one moment! God calls on us all to perform his work. Unfortunately, there are too few who listen. Who are we to question, when a man is so moved by that call as to have the courage to take up the task alongside another burden of labour? On the contrary, such devotion to the wholesome care of our fellow man should be admired and applauded.’
James felt a sense of relief. He had been worried that the Archdeacon would try to dissuade him. Instead, he was left feeling more positive than ever before. He had been right to listen to his inner voice. Perhaps now he could begin to fulfil his true destiny.
‘What would you suggest my next move should be?’
‘There is a very good part-time degree course in theology at Hull University. You might consider enrolling there. I can put you in contact with a priest in Hull who is a tutor and lecturer on the course. He would guide you further in that respect.’
‘I would greatly appreciate that,’ said James, his mind feeling so elated that he could have hugged the priest standing in front of him.
The Archdeacon took a small diary from his desk and wrote down a name and address, passing the slip of paper to James.
‘I will ring him and let him know that you will be in contact. Would you like another cup of tea?’
After a further discussion, the future Reverend Dr James Armstrong took his departure and walked out into the crisp early evening air, feeling, as never before, that he was at last walking the right pathway in life.
As he passed St Peter’s Church on his walk back home, he gazed up at the bell tower as it stretched into the darkening night sky, and felt a powerful surge of confidence.
‘I promise to serve you well,’ he whispered.