In university chaplaincy there are number of what might be termed ‘set tasks’, but not many. These might include: the provision of opportunities for worship; contributing to pastoral care in relation to death and crisis; ex officio membership of certain committees. Beyond these lies a vast area of discretion to shape the work as one will. This means that there is probably an almost infinite number of ways in which chaplaincy can be done, and that there is far, far more that could be done than one will ever have opportunity to fulfil. Jane Speck (2011) puts the matter well: “[a]lways I feel as though I need to be where I am and somewhere else. As a consequence it’s easy to end up living with a permanent sense of unspecified failure.” (p.36)
Chaplaincy then, at its heart, is learning how to live with limits. It is an inevitable part of the human condition; it is consequence of being creature not creator. And it means that one of the hardest questions to answer meaningfully is: What constitutes ‘success’?
Quickly one realises that one cannot be present everywhere equally. I clearly remember beginning chaplaincy work on a 250 acre campus with (what turned out to be) the hopeless ambition of being a uniformly familiar figure in all locations. How then does one make a choice? If it is quality of relationships that determines the quality of what one can achieve, then one has to begin with oneself. You need to be guided by your authentic humanity, by your genuine and natural interests and inclinations. Sharon Kugler (2013) has it right: “…my only option in doing this job is just to be myself and to be as present as possible for those I encounter.” (p.5). Trying to feign fascination for what does not interest one at all is both inauthentic and a waste of time. This holds particularly for students who have an unerring ability to sense pretended attention. One simply has to follow out where one’s own curiosity leads. Soon enough this will lead to a cascade of other encounters.
One is also limited by geography. It is captivating to talk to other chaplains and discover how different the shape of their work can be from one’s own. For beyond divergences in nature and nurture lie the distinctions enforced by the kind and location of plant one has at one’s disposal. This principle can also hold true without the need for comparisons with other places but by remaining long enough in the same location. Even though the plant one has may stay the same, it can take on a changing significance as the university alters and evolves around it, so demanding new ways of working. A parallel condition pertains if one works on more than one campus; different locations can extract markedly dissimilar ministries from the same individual.
Another limitation to be embraced is that Chaplaincy takes time. Sometimes it takes many years of ‘seeing you around’ before someone will trust you enough to speak of what matters. Again, the seeds of one’s work may germinate long after one has left the university. With Hugh Shilson-Thomas (2011) it is best to ‘take the long view’ (p.33). In taking ‘the long view’ it is good to be aware of the disappointing degree of cumulative progress that can afflict chaplaincy work. People have short-term memories. Even those for whom chaplaincy has been of very significant help can quickly forget your presence. Once the crisis moves on, we can fade from view.
Organising one’s time must also be limited. It is vital, if possible, to plan enough space into the day so as to have time for people; one needs to develop a sense of the limits of what can be pre-booked without damaging the gift of availability you have to offer others. Planning also has to be curtailed for another reason: the Chaplain is a perpetual beginner always having to defer the grand plan for another year when one knows the institution better. Why? Because the institution is in perpetual motion.
One further reflection on time: it is not consistent. There are seasons and divisions, periods and spells that are qualitatively distinct. Depending on one’s purpose not all weeks or months are equal; they are not interchangeable. The most obvious example of this rhythmic nature of time is the beginning of each academic year and its freshers’ weeks. There is a precious fluidity about this period when loyalties are not yet determined, patterns not yet established, and people are actively seeking out opportunities. It makes this time particularly amenable to launching new initiatives or rebuilding community. This a crucial moment for investment of energy and attention for what does or does not happen here can set the tone the rest of academic year. Miss this opportune period, for whatever reason, and one may have to wait a full twelve months before being able to properly begin to make up lost ground.
Finally, it can sometimes be hard to live with what one knows about the institution. Perhaps this is knowledge of doubtful practices that inhabit the shadows, things not officially acknowledged or spoken about but which nevertheless seem to be assumed necessary. Other times it may be awareness of wrongdoing and the misuse of power, of the sacrifice of integrity to efficiency. Occasionally a path will open up that enables one’s observations to be acknowledged and acted upon. More often, one just has to live with the tension between what the institution is and what, at its best, it desires to be – while continually seeking to contribute to the realisation of the latter.
No thoughts yet on “Living with what’s possible”