May 2, 2004

Glynn Cardy

The dog whines. It is pre-dawn. Together we head for our local leash-free volcano and ascend. Watching the city switch off its lights and the sky ignite with the day… breathing the cool and breathing hard… the dog frolicking in the delights of space and smells… these are all part of my morning prayer. It is precious time. Thank God for dogs.

6:45 in our household is action stations. Preparation has begun the night before with lunches made and uniforms laid out. In the morning four children and two adults breakfast, dress, exchange amicable grunts, and dive out the door swimming with the Auckland traffic.

I return, a little jaded, sometime after eight ready to face whatever this day may bring.

No day is ever the same. The unexpected is just waiting to drop by. The art of enjoying being a parish priest is to have a state of mind flexible enough to accommodate such interruptions.

Usually though, around 8, with a restorative coffee in hand, invariably still unshaven, I check the overnight emails and return the unanswered calls. Then, before the phone starts to misbehave, I scan the various sites: sojourners, anglicansonline, nzherald, and textweek.

After 9 the morning heats up. Now suitably attired and groomed, I respond to letters, the occasional request for help, and the demands of some deadline. Invariably someone drops in, and then out. I catch up with our administrator and voluntary helpers. On Wednesdays I lead Mass at 10.

Eventually the noise and busyness of the day quench my spirit and I retreat to the local café for a re-fill. Trim flat white. There are a lot of people at the café of course who know me, but respect for one's space is part of urban survival. Usually a smile or a brief "Hi" are the extent of social contact. I sip, read, and ponder. Sometimes I write notes. Most sermons start at the café.

I believe at the heart of the priestly vocation is the will to stop, look, and listen. To pray and to think. I try to get at least an hour a day.

Today I visit a parishioner downtown. To 'have a coffee'. I'm listening for what matters to him, how does faith figure in his life, and how might I help. We talk about his business and his children, Yugio cards and cooking. Talking in the office is different from talking at home.

On the way home I pop in unexpectedly on a colleague. Just to let him know I know he exists and matters. We talk dogs for five minutes.

Home to the telephone and the call I've been dreading. Sometimes hard things are best done straightaway. Today I've been procrastinating. I'm taking a funeral on Friday and the family is not on talking terms with each other. One side has done the organizing. They think it's a good idea to tell the other side what's going on. Being in the Taranaki the other side mightn't have heard! They asked me to make that bridging call.

Cripes! It's nearly 1:30 and I promised my up-and-coming-Mark-Sorenson that I would be there to witness the defeat of the opposition as he slugged innumerable home runs. I arrive, panting, at the school just in time for the start of his innings. I exchange pleasantries with some other parents who seem incredibly more relaxed than I am. He gets to second base before the team is out.

One of my little rules of thumb, easier to say than to do, is that I need to be a good father to my children in order, in the old language, to be a good father to my congregation. By good I mean giving them the time, affirmation, and the support they need - building love and trust.

One of the gifts of this job is flexibility. I'm typing this at 9.30 p.m. Whereas at 3.30 p.m. I was driving across Auckland picking children up and depositing them at sporting venues [soccer and swimming]. Priests, if they choose, have the opportunity to be involved in their children's lives to a level rarely seen a generation ago.

Another gift of this job is variety. After 4 is usually the time when baptism, wedding and funeral folk come to visit. We have over a hundred such services a year, and therefore average four interviews each week. I love asking people, who often have little understanding of the Church, about God and faith. The answers are refreshing and often insightful. For my part I try to communicate that they are loved and respected by God, and are a part of us.

Like most families food, homework, catching up, and getting children to bed consume the early evening hours. It is also the time that I receive a number of phone calls. There is frequently too a knock on the door from someone a bit down on his or her luck.

Although one can't be too dogmatic about it, I try to only work three evenings a week - one visiting new parishioners, one at some meeting, and one writing. My wife laughs when I tell her that last sentence. It is nice to have ideals even if they are frequently compromised.

Tonight I'm thinking. I received a glossy leaflet titled "Family Under Attack". It's referring to the upcoming Civil Union Bill. I'm, however, more interested in finding out what would be good for families. So I've been asking around.

To date I've heard mostly about workplaces that could be more tolerant of family needs. Like having work functions suitable for those with children. Like flexibly helping parents work outside normal hours in order to attend school events. Another parent suggested cycle-ways so children can visit friends without being run there. Another talked about a 'surrogate grandparent' scheme - linking children with older folk. No one I've spoken to has mentioned the gay word.

These thoughts take embryonic shape upon my computer screen.

Sometime around 10.15 my darling wife invites me to have a cup of coffee with her. Decaf. We talk, tell stories, and enjoy the peace found in our company. It is precious time.

The day draws to a close.