Straight Talking

Synod February 2023 has been a bruising encounter, not least helped by dropping the 'Hub by Premier' mug on my foot, in the 7th floor bolt hole that held the same level of charm as one or two of the synod reps in my company at Synod this week.

The timetable of events suggested and proved correct, that the main thrust of conversation was going to be about well, thrusting, bonking, making love, fornicating, a bit of ooh la la all in the eyes of God. 

Of course It didn't say that on the paper but the simple matter of saying yes or no to blessing a same sex couple was far too 'straight' forward. It was always going to be penetrated by matters between right and wrong, and which side of the argument you slipped into.  Often it felt it was more about appropriate behavior under the covers of a Habitat eiderdown, rather than blessing gay people who wanted to spend the rest of their lives together without the whole congregation getting involved.

As I lay semi-naked in my room '712', which you will be delighted to learn was exactly where I should be, I contemplated a sausage! Then I contemplated bacon and egg, sausage, bacon and egg, or simply a blueberry muffin and a flick through Facebook. In the end I went for a full English so not to compromise my ever expanding waistline where, as the usual the beans were colder than a Conservative Evangelicals approach to a binge watch of QI with Sandi Toksvig.  

Inside the chamber it really was an eclectic mix of dress codes, ranging from multi coloured lanyards, plumages of colour and rainbows, purples of power and might, conservative collaborations of chinos and check and me in my Christmas Coat from TK MAK. 

In the hunt for an essence of working class Burnley, I went to the toilets only to be greeted by a woman. To my surprise, I was stunned, what had happened, was this institution radically transforming  before my eyes? In the presence of  a cacophony of virgins, heathens and the Archbishop of Canterbury was this a move to radical inclusion? In my uncertainty I looked to the latrines for reassurance. How relieved I was to see another man's penis, doing what even the most conservative minded heterosexual male would have approved of, it was urinating! The lady swiftly moved her mop and bucket to a more a user friendly location, and left the facility, saving me further embarrassment as I'm not as liberal as some when it comes to passing water.

Already under the influence of sciatica and a reasonably priced cappuccino the prospect of sitting on chairs that have all the comfort of the debate placed before us, I lost the ability to feel my own buttocks. I'm pretty sure 'numb buttocks' is worthy of a biblical reflection sometime, but in the moment, my eyes were firmly metaphorically fixed on other people's bottoms and front bit activity.

At no point did the eight hour debate suggest that I might switch sides, bat for the other team, go to Rome or shop at Marks and Spencer's. It did however make me wonder how life might have been more simpler had I stayed at Argos. Enthusiastically raising funds for another humongous middle class institution, Sainsburys at times felt more desirable. Alas God had called me to his circle in the round in Westminster. Where the world looked on from outside with only a mild concern, seemingly more interested that if God forgot his/her PE kit, would they have had to climb the monkey ropes in their underpants or their knickers.

After moving a motion of my own making I left my one chamber to enter an arena reminiscent of 1976. In my desire for some 'straight' talking, I felt called to talk to a packed Synod about the cost of living crisis. However I was dismayed to discover more empty seats than a midweek encounter between Hartlepool United and Plymouth Argyle. Many delegates appeared to be saving themselves until it felt to right to participate in the day that lie open before us..

In my frustration and enthusiasm regarding the subject matter I aeriated and let off a little. Then I said a few words about poverty which got a nice round of applause and tap on the shoulder in the tea room. We spent almost one whole hour discussing poor people, as we had to make way for an 8 hour deliberation on various factions doing everything withing the bounds of legality to stop or start, anything that would  get in the way of us doing something.

Prior to the big talk we got chance for a smaller talk about the big talk. To discuss and understand what we liked, and what we didn't like about same sex relationships and was there any common ground regarding fornication that might bring us closer together of course this was purely in a platonic and non intimate way that would compromise issues of sexuality and morality.

As the debate got underway we got the chairman of all chairman, Geoffrey who I understand was a 'man', who held proceedings together with, craft, humility and humour. Sadly for the next 8 hours or so hours there wasn't much to laugh about. Whilst middle class men and women and those identifying as something else, discussed the appropriateness of same sex attraction. By this point, my bottom had gone further into spasm due to sciatic issues but I felt compelled to listen to the debate in its entirety and until I was told it was time to get off.

At times it felt like therapy, at other times it felt like depravity, not in the subject it's self but the depths people may have conversed. If it wasn't for the skill of my favourite synod patriarch, good old Geoffrey.  I never really had a granddad and if Geoffrey wasn't so busy being Chairman Geoffrey, I'd invite him for tea in Burnley to tell me stories of old and gift him a pipe.

In the end what happened? Well nothing to suggest I'll be marrying a gay couple anytime soon, but then again due to the Cost of Living crisis, there are no plans to marry a good old fashioned, traditional straight couple anytime soon either.

As I returned to Burnley, I did what I thought was right, I supported the motion to bless same sex relationships. That of course, could see me going to a place considered by many to be hell. No not, Benidorm, but hell, hell, hell. To the fiery pit!

However if that is to be my destination, then so may it be, but I will go there,  believing I was just trying to be kind rather than to be strict.

May God go with, wherever they may send you.

till next time,

Alex

Fr Alex is the vicar St Matthew's Burnley, and is the author of a brand new book entitled 'Our Daily Bread Argos To The Altar. A Priest's Story which be ordered here, Our Daily Bread: From Argos to the Altar – a Priest's Story eBook : Frost, Father Alex, Campbell, Alastair: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store or follow him on Twitter @alexdjfrost