A Right Charlie  

Reflections on the Ministry and Practice of Anglican School Chaplaincy

This is another in an occasional series of posts inviting us to reflect upon our chaplaincy ministry and practice. This post was contributed by Rev Peter Treloar, a long serving and highly regarded school chaplain. Peter served as chaplain at St Michaels Grammar in Melbourne and Ballarat Grammar. This post contains a couple of sections lifted from a much longer reflection where Peter looks back over his time in chaplaincy.

1: A Reflection on the World of Adolescence

When it comes to thinking about God, I have found adolescents to be open to all possibilities. Mind you, most teenagers are a long way from the Council of Nicaea. But while sitting in a classroom or the Chapel in silence which might easily be mistaken for disinterest, more than a few teenagers may well show evidence of deep theological activity. Once, a Year 12 boy approached me in his final hours of schooling to thank me.  I asked him what for. He smiled and said: “Well, Fr Pete, you really made me think” and walked away.

I didn’t even know his name. I had no idea that I had prompted his thinking in any way. I have no idea what steps he has taken on the journey into Christ since then. But I do know from long experience that most teenagers journey by asking questions.

Yet I trust that his journey into Christ has continued since that day. I have no evidence at all that his faith has grown. Yet my experience tells me that the vast majority came to the schools where I taught with little or no background of the Christian faith at all. “Jesus” was a swear word to many. They had no idea what the Chapel was for, for they had never been taken to Church by their parents or grandparents. But little by little, over many years of being compelled to attend weekly Chapel, this lad and others like him have heard words, and may have heard The Word.

We are so easily discouraged. It’s not like when I was at school, we think. Yet it is precisely as it was back then. I sat with the rest of my Year level, hearing the word of God faithfully preached, singing hymns which both in word and note were unfamiliar to me. Yet God is at work in such situations. Will there be nobody else from that year at School singing God’s praises beside me when I find myself in heaven? Rather, I suspect that a great many will be there, because through all our earthly years, the Holy Spirit will have been working through dull preachers and even duller hymns. Nowhere are we told that at the moment of our death, we will be presented with a score card, which ranks our feeble efforts at ministry. I suspect that mine will be dismal. But then, I have always thought that my own efforts were pretty feeble. But if the only face I recognise beside me in heaven is that of the Year 12 boy who once said that I made him think, then that is enough.

This is why I am terribly saddened when I hear of schools who have reduced their Chapel services to once a term. Let me contradict myself at once and say that I understand why this happens. Schools are terribly busy places. Where this term can we squeeze in the swimming sports and a middle-school choral concert and … There simply aren’t enough weeks in the term and hours in the week. If we could do without Chapel this week (or in the odd numbered weeks) life would be much less complicated.

And the Chaplain is old and tired. The students complain about being forced to attend Chapel services which they find dull and boring. So many problems are solved if we hold one decent Chapel service each term. And anyway, compelling students (and staff) to attend archaic Chapel services seems so … well … out-of-touch!

At the first school at which I was Senior Chaplain, the Headmaster had already been there for ten years or so when I arrived. All his policies had been carefully worked out long before then. He believed that nobody could be forced to worship God, so Chapel could never be compulsory. So, any student whose conscience forbade them from attending Christian worship need only make an appointment with the Headmaster to explain this, and they would be excused to work on their own in the Library. Some students made use of this provision.

On 11^th September, 2001, we received the news of the attacks on New York and other American sites before school began. By the end of morning recess, the entire school was across the road in the mammoth Anglican Church which stood there. Every student knew their liturgical responses well enough to get by. Hymns were projected. The Headmaster had put together a sermon which most students found utterly provoking. A local church dignitary called by the School Office to suggest that the School might try to organise a Eucharist. The secretary informed him politely that the Eucharist was taking place as they spoke.

At both schools where I have been the Chaplain, whole School Eucharists were held for Founders Day and Ash Wednesday in Term 1, Easter in Term 2, Spirit Week in Term 3 and the Leavers’ Eucharist in Term 4. A voluntary Eucharist was held weekly. No activity was ever held on Sunday mornings, as this would prevent staff and students from attending their local parish Eucharist. The Chaplains would somehow get to every group which was camping (sometimes involving almost ridiculous lengths) to conduct a Eucharist. Perched high on a rock ledge in the Grampians, resting peacefully by a tranquil lake in the King Valley south of Wangaratta, or on an otherwise deserted beach at sunset, we managed to find our own cathedrals. More than a few students told me later that these “bush Masses” were among the most impactful they ever experienced.

Both these schools were thoroughly Eucharistic. We had three priests on staff, so we were able to have a daily Eucharist. The pattern of taking bread, blessing it, breaking it and distributing it became our pattern for living. We too are taken by God, blessed, broken and handed out for the salvation of the world. I am not suggesting for one moment that every student cottoned on to this pattern, but a good many did. The effect of such practice is difficult to overstate.

It is sometimes argued that a formal Church liturgy of the type which Anglicans use is too wordy to capture the hearts and minds of teenagers. I disagree with this. It is true that some liturgies can use too many words. Have a go at using as few words as possible. Replace the words which you have omitted with puddles of stillness. Try to find the one right word. Repeat it judiciously. Vary the voices. Try to do it differently than the way you did it last time.  I remember once putting a semi-circle of staff and students in front of the Altar, each of whom read a line of the Preface leading up to the Sanctus. At an Ash Wednesday Eucharist, the washing of the feet was re-enacted during the Thanksgiving Prayer (students washing teachers’ feet, and vice versa.) At every Easter Eucharist, after Communion a procession of Easter eggs was led on stage by the Easter Bunny before being distributed to students (have you ever walked into a shop and asked to purchase 1,500 Easter eggs?) Be creative, and never just repeat what you did last time.

Each act of worship (a service of the word or a Eucharist) should make one point. Think and pray, think and pray, until that one point becomes clear to you. This might take at least a term or a year for major liturgies. Then write it in a box at the top of your planning sheet.

Everything flows from that. The hymns and anthems. The Bible readings. Every prayer. And, of course, the sermon. Everything must relate back to this one single point. Let’s take an example.

You’re doing the Easter Eucharist. At the top of your planning sheet, in a box, are these words:

Hymn at the beginning of the service (the tune is Hyfrodol):

Two disciples, walking homeward

Three days after Jesus died

Sad, confused and lost.

But who is

This now walking by their side?

Telling them of God’s redemption,

Showing them God’s loving plan,

Though he seems to know the answers

Still they do not know this man.

Like them, we can fail to see what 

God puts right before our eyes Easter tells us to be ready

For God’s wonderful surprise.

Every day, in different faces,

God’s at work in countless ways Turning sadness into joy and

Our complaints to songs of praise.  

Hymn after sermon (or sung as a Communion anthem, led by the Choir). See TIS 363.

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Two followers of Jesus Christ

Were walking to Emmaus

A stranger came and walked with us,

          Alleluia! alleluia!

“Why are you glum?” the stranger said

“Do you alone not know he’s dead?

And women from our group de-cla-red,

          That he is raised, alleluia!

“So slow to see what Scripture said,

How he must suffer and be glory-led,”

And step by step he ex-plai-ned,

          Alleluia! alleluia!

They reached their home and asked him to stay

“For it is almost the end of day.”

He entered, broke the bread in his way,

          And then they saw, alleluia!

He vanished from their sight, and they

Ran back to town that very day:

“We’ve seen the Lord” they gladly say,

          Alleluia! alleluia!

If there are other hymns, they must be well known and practiced.

The Gospel: Luke 24.13-35

When it comes to the sermon, I have already suggested that, in my experience, teenagers like to move forward in their understanding of an issue by asking questions. In this sermon on the appearance of Jesus on the road to Emmaus, I want to suggest that Easter in not just new, but a new sort of new. Nothing before or since is quite the same. Jesus is not the old version of himself “come back to life again”. This is new Jesus, the heavenly Jesus, the “not of this world Jesus” who breaks bread with Cleopas and his buddy and them vanishes into thin air. This is a “beyond our understanding” Jesus. If we approach the after-Easter Jesus as being the same person as we knew before Holy Week, we are missing something vital. The before Good Friday Jesus was tired and hungry. He wept at the tomb of Lazarus. The crucifixion hurt. The blood he shed was real blood.

But on the road to Emmaus, none of that applied. Jesus didn’t get sore feet. He wasn’t sad or anxious. And if we are Easter people, we too will be different. Of course, we are still on this side of the grave. We are not yet in heaven. We live in between earth and heaven. We will have days when we are very aware of being earthly. On other days, we’ll get glimpses of heaven. This “in-between-ness” can be very uncomfortable indeed. We must do our best to shift our attitude so that we leave earthly things behind and focus on the things of heaven.

The second point I want to make is that Jesus never gave lectures. He used stories (which usually dealt with situations which were easily accessible to the daily life of his listeners) or actions which were symbolic. The Last Supper and the washing of the disciples’ feet are two clear examples of this. At both schools where I have been Chaplain, votive candle-stands have always given the opportunity to light candles as an act of prayer. To wander into the Chapel, mutter a prayer and wander out again is a fairly nebulous act. Lighting a candle is a concrete action which carries more weight. The Easter Candle is a towering symbol of the newness of Easter. The Amnesty Candle also carries weight, as does the Christmas Crib. After a student suicide, I put lots of coloured post-it notes and pens near the votive candle-stands. In a few days, that wall was plastered with messages to the student and her family and friends. There were hundreds of them. I am forever looking for something tangible, something concrete, something touchy-feely that students can connect with. When I have reached up to a forehead taller than my own, smudged a dirty black cross on it, and said to the student “Remember, O Man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shall return”, both of us have known that something important is happening.

So, what I am trying to say is: don’t just use a word. Say it, act it out, symbolise it, use all five senses, use colour, use movement, use everything to get your message across.

2: Where to Aim

Both schools at which I have been Chaplain have enrolled students from ELC to Year 12. So, every week, chaplains might find themselves speaking in front of five year olds and 18 year olds. One year, we had a visiting preacher who delivered a sermon to the Junior School, and then repeated exactly the same sermon to the Senior School. I’m sure that Jesus might have managed to speak the same words to such a diversity of audience, but I cannot.

Let’s suppose that the roster tells me that my topic is the story of David and Goliath in 1 Samuel 17. It is, of course, a wonderful story, well suited to high drama (how tall can you make yourself in your Chapel? Is there a towering pulpit? Can the Principal act out Goliath, while the shortest Preppie can be David?) And for the Junior School, the story is probably enough. At the top of your planning sheet, in the box, you might write: “Don’t be afraid. God is bigger than every giant.”

For the Senior School, the facts of what happened on the battlefield that day are less important. I’m quite happy to admit to senior kids that David was a scrawny kid and Goliath was a muscle-bound meathead. As the story was told and retold, it was exaggerated, until David was 3 foot 6 inches tall, and Goliath was 6 foot 3 inches. Stories are always stretched to their limit as they are repeated. Wasn’t Don Bradman’s batting average 999.4?

But all stories, from Cain and Abel to Shrek and Donkey, contain both facts and truths. The truths are far more important for us that the facts. Were there two of each animal on the ark, or seven? That depends. When you read Genesis 7, do you concentrate on verse 2 or verse 15! Who cares how many centimetres tall Goliath was? What matters is that David appeared to be outmatched.

Note that 1 Samuel 17 does not say: “When David heard the giant’s threats, he pulled out from his jacket a super-sonic matter-scatterer and zapped Goliath right between the eyes.” Dave uses a natural talent which he always has possessed. See 1 Samuel 17.34-37. There is no magic trick to David’s victory. God uses the skill which David has developed from his childhood, a natural talent.

So, we may well say to the Year 12 students before us: “Do not expect God to provide a super-sonic matter-scatterer for you to fight your battles for you. God has already given you what you need to defeat your demons: a fair brain, a sense of humour, or whatever. You are already equipped with everything you need to win the day. Go calmly about your business and use wisely and well the gifts which God has given you.

There are so many lessons which can come out of this story. In one lifetime of preaching, the roster might direct us to it multiple times. Do we ever need to repeat a sermon? I used to print off every sermon, and file them away. But after a few years of doing this, I stopped. The Good News must be as fresh as God’s love, which is new every morning.

Those who preach to a regular and small Sunday congregation should give thanks to God that they can know their hearers well. But School Chaplains might often have hundreds or even thousands of sets of ears tuned to what they’re saying. Among these, there might be a handful of students (of varying ages) who attend church most Sundays. These might be in need of some solid preaching. Another group might be Christmas and Easter attendees, or have been at the school long enough to get their foot in the door of your sermon. The bulk of your audience will need a little gentle help finding their way into what you’re saying. Make your approach to every sermon appropriate to the age and stage of your audience.

3: A Right Charlie

When the Senior Chaplain of St Michael’s Grammar School resigned at the end of Term Three of my first year there, and I inherited his office. Unlike all other staff doors, there was no title painted on it, and seeing it was in a rather out-of-the-way spot, I asked that something should be painted on it to identify who lurked behind it.

Nothing. I asked again. And again. Finally, the great day arrived. I returned from a class and turned the corner to face my freshly painted door. It read: CHAPLIN.

I have preached on this story. On the huge screen behind me, the word “Chaplin” appeared when I came to that spot in my script, along with a lovely photo of the man himself. Then I asked the students: if you could have any famous person to be your chaplain, who would you choose? Did they want an adventure hero, like Indiana Jones? A genius, such as Einstein? Martin Luther King? Mother Theresa? We had lots of fun as the list went on. Slides included Goofy, Robin Hood, Ash Barty, Superman and so on.

I then introduced Paul and Timothy, and the idea that mentors give advice to their students to help shape their characters. At this school, we dinosaurs mentor you students. By word and by example, we shape you into the type of people who will make your contribution to the world a positive one.

To achieve this, we need to become people of prayer who speak the truth in love. (Ephesians 4.15). As the PowerPoint for that service continued, Charlie Chaplin appeared a few times more, peeping out of the screen from behind something. And he was there once the next week, and again a fortnight after that. Now and again, the verse itself appeared. It became something of a motto for us. Students began to call me Charlie, to which I would smile stupidly back.

What was the effect of this on my students? Sorry, but you’ll have to ask God! What I am sure of is that although at times I was quite happy to appear to my students as a right Charlie, I never pretended to be anything other than myself. I am not pure, or holy, or virtuous. I am a sinner, in thought, word and deed. Through the love and mercy of God the Father, and in Christ my Lord, I am saved. In the Holy Spirit, I am given gifts to work as part of God’s team on Earth. There is no secret to this. Everyone is welcome to join the team as God’s Kingdom is extended. Through us (or despite us) the Kingdom is extended into all the world. Some of God’s people are given the gifts they need to work in schools, so that there too His name will be praised and His Kingdom come. All we who are called to this ministry throw up our hands and give Him thanks until the Kingdom comes: Alleluia!

Peter is a very gifted chaplain and one of his great gifts is hymn writing. Over his many years as a chaplain, he has built up an impressive collection of his hymns (559 to be precise).  The collection is called ‘Open Minds: Full Voices’ and Peter is happy for this to be shared with interested people. If hymns work well in your chaplaincy context and you are interested in receiving a copy, please be in contact with me and I can send these your way.