A VOCATION may be for life, but a post in the Church of England is another matter. “Whether they are paid or unpaid, archbishop or parish priest, all clergy have to face the prospect of retirement,” the diocesan retirement officer for Chelmsford, the Ven. David Lowman, says.
For clergy, retiring can be “very hard”, says the Revd Christine Shedd, a retired-clergy and widows officer for the Huddersfield Area. “If you’re a shopworker, you can give up work, make a new life, and drift off into the sunset. If you’re a teacher, you can take up tutoring if you want.
“But once a priest, always a priest — and, for some, being able to celebrate the eucharist is actually a vital part of their being.”
The earlier people begin to consider what lies ahead of them, the better prepared they will be, Fr Lowman says. Nowadays, more and more clergy in their sixties are going on diocesan pre-retirement courses.
The clergy-retirement officer for the diocese of Gloucester, Canon Michael Parsons, suggests that people should start thinking about retirement at least five years beforehand. “Pre-retirement courses cover things like how big a pension you’re going to get, how much assistance you might get with housing.
“My impression is that maybe 50 per cent of clergy already own a house, because they were ordained later in life. For those who have been in the ministry all their working life, [the question where they will live] is certainly a worry. They don’t always end up with exactly what they would have liked.
“If you don’t have enough capital to buy a property, the Pensions Board will house you in one way or another. They can rent a house to you, at a reasonable commercial rent, for as long as you and your partner are alive. The other option, for those who have a bit of capital, is the Church’s Housing Assistance for the Retired Ministry [CHARM scheme], where you purchase part of the equity and rent part of it. Lately, the rental rates have gone up considerably, because, in effect, it’s a mortgage rather than a rent, and that has caused a lot of complaints.”
Beyond such practical concerns lie bigger issues of loss: of community, and of identity. “You’ll always be a clerk in Holy Orders,” Archdeacon Lowman says, “but you will no longer be the leader of a congregation or a parish. You will have to get used to a change in how people look at you. There’s no point pretending you are something you’re not.
“You have to think about finances and so on; but much more you have to consider: What is my role in life going to be? Am I going to continue living in the area where I’ve lived for the last ten or 20 years, or do I have to move and make new friends, find a new church to worship in?”
Dr Parsons adds: “When you arrive somewhere as the new vicar, you have to say no to things rather than ask to join things. That all changes. Now, you’ve got to work your way into a new community.”
The Revd Christine Shedd
Moving out of a parish where “to a large extent you have been the centre of everything” can be a real shock, he says. “People have described it as like being pushed off the edge of a cliff.
“You may have been very involved in your diocese on synods and councils, and getting regular emails soliciting your views; and that all stops. It happens in other occupations as well — if you’re a retired bank manager, you don’t expect HSBC to go on asking you how they should run the bank – but [being a minister] is not just a job. It has a very different psychological effect.”
For clergy partners, too, Fr Lowman says, it can be “not the easiest of transitions”. In some parishes, Dr Parsons explains, the vicar’s partner, in particular, is “a significant player. They will have built up a network of local friends in a way the vicar might not have done, and moving some distance away can be quite a wrench.”
PART of the preparation for retirement is to start thinking about what you are going to do with your retirement, Dr Parsons says. “You will still exercise a ministry, but it will be a different ministry. You may find yourself being almost as thoroughly involved in a parish you move to as you were when you were the vicar somewhere. In some ways, that has to be resisted.”
In his diocese, he says, there are 335 retired clergy, of whom currently 246 have permission to officiate. Similarly, Mrs Shedd reckons that “roughly two-thirds” of the 100 or so “retireds” in her area have PTOs. For various reasons, however, numbers have fallen recently.
Chelmsford DioceseThe Ven. David Lowman, photographed before his own retirement as Archdeacon of Chelmsford in 2016
To get a PTO, Dr Parsons explains, “you’ve got to keep your safeguarding training up to date, and that really freaked some people out. Particularly during lockdown, when everything went online, the training was far too demanding for retired clergy, particularly those who had never been incumbents. Some of our more elderly clergy didn’t even have computers. Some people simply said: ‘I can’t cope with this.’”
Quite a few who had been working regularly have given up, Mrs Shedd says. “Others are only doing something in their own parish now, or maybe next door; very few are willing to do general cover. They’ve kept their PTOs, but just decided they’ve had enough.”
There is now a modified course suitable for retired clergy who do only light duty. “If you only do a midweek eucharist every month, or so,” Dr Parsons says, “you now do the same sort of safeguarding training that a PCC member will do.”
Even with permission to officiate, Mrs Shedd says, it may not be plain sailing. “Many retired clergy in our area are no longer attached to a church. The usual reason is that they have settled in a new parish and formed a relationship with the incumbent, and it’s been worked out what they’re going to do — and then a new vicar takes over who no longer wants them.”
Often, the new arrival is a first-time incumbent, who perhaps feels threatened by them, or simply has a very different theology or churchmanship, “and it just becomes impossible to work with them”. Of course, she admits, there are some retired clergy who insist “‘it should always be done like this. . .’ We are not all innocent.”
She suggests that, in ordination training, despite all the talk about collaborative ministry, “very little seems to be done to prepare new clergy to work with those who have retired.
“It is very, very difficult, when you have already had to uproot once and leave so many things behind, to start all over again, and you feel very wary about trying to fit in somewhere else. A lot of retired clergy just give up and say: ‘I’m not going to try any more.’ Quite a number in our area rarely go to church — or, if they do, it’s not their local church.”
THERE is no doubt that the Church of England relies heavily on the services of retired clergy. “We have no firm data on this,” Dr Parsons says, “but, anecdotally, in a diocese like Gloucester, getting on for half the Sunday eucharists will be taken by a retired priest.”
The availability of such services is inevitably patchy. Retired clergy are “very thin on the ground” in London, he points out, “because they can’t afford to buy a house there, and nor can the Pensions Board”. On the other hand, Mrs Shedd observes, “if you go to Ripon, you can’t walk down the street without meeting at least six retired clergy.”
Their availability may be reduced by other factors, too. “Those who are retiring now don’t want to be working as much,” she says. “They actually like having the odd Sunday when they don’t have to be at church, to do things with family, go to the local fête, or whatever.”
Moreover, some people are retiring with some definite projects in mind. She mentions one clergyman who retired to spend more time with his motorbike club at weekends, and another who wanted to build a model railway.
Dr Parsons recalls one retired priest who was “very good at doing funerals. . . He wanted to develop this ministry, and, after consultation, realised that the only way he could [advertise it] without falling foul of the Church’s rules was to resign his orders, which he did. But he continued to take Christian funerals, and they were very well done.”
He also refers to two retired priests who have become chaplains on cruise ships. “They provide pastoral care, and give talks for the other passengers. They don’t get paid anything, but they get a free cruise.”
Many retired clergy “become superb spiritual advisers”, Fr Lowman says, both to other clergy and to lay people.
CLERGY retiring now, Mrs Shedd suggests, “expect more” of retirement. “They tend to still feel they have a lot to offer, in the church or outside it, and are not ready just to say: ‘Right, I’ll fill in and take a Sunday service.’ There is some frustration with the opportunities available in the Church.”
She believes that it would help if dioceses always offered “a proper exit interview” when clergy retire, which included “a discussion about what they might like to do, and what the possibilities are”.
Very few dioceses, Dr Parsons suggests, have a well worked-out plan for how they’re going to use retired clergy. (“One or two do have a plan — but didn’t consult any retired clergy!”)
Perhaps those who want to make a specific commitment, he says, to do, say, two services a month could be licensed rather than just given permission to officiate. “The big difference with being licensed is that you’re more accountable; you have to be resourced with assessment and ongoing training — and the bishop can’t arbitrarily remove your licence without good reason.”
Do some retired clergy feel obliged to continue officiating when they don’t really want to? Yes, Dr Parsons says. “I think almost all of us are very happy to help. But what we don’t want is to be presumed upon.”
“You have to grab your retirement, that’s what I tell people,” Mrs Shedd says. “They say, ‘I feel a bit guilty that I’m not saying I’ll take a service.’ I say: ‘No, you’re retired. You can now choose what you do.’”
Canon Simon Tatton-Brown was ordained deacon, aged 29, after working for seven years as a probation officer, and then priest the next year. He retired in 2013, aged 65.
The Revd Simon Tatton-Brown
CANON Tatton-Brown found ministry very rewarding. “The sense of being needed and being appreciated: ‘Thank you, Vicar. That was a lovely funeral.’
“I reordered my first church. In my next parish, an arsonist burnt the church to the ground, and we got an insurance settlement of over £1 million, which enabled me to build not only a new parish church, but also a new primary school.
“If I was asked to describe the job I’ve done, the work of an ordained minister would form only a small part of it. I can look back and see that I left a very tangible mark on the landscape, as well as on people’s lives. That’s a very nice feeling.”
He retired at the end of 2013, and recalls walking along the banks of a river on New Year’s Day and feeling the tension of an incumbency draining away. “I knew that I no longer had to worry about gutters and downspouts. That was quite liberating!”
The diocese of Bristol had sent him on a pre-retirement course five years earlier. “I’m very glad I went on it,” he says. “For instance, you have to plan your housing in good time. Leave it to the last minute, and you’re under pressure, and then you buy something you regret.”
He was able to buy the end-of-terrace house he now lives in “a good two years” before his retirement. “Without that course, I don’t think I’d have understood all the issues. I’ve seen clergy in a real state over it. It wasn’t a problem for me — I was incredibly lucky.”
As a young man, he had been chaplain to the Bishop of Manchester for six years, and so “had seen a lot of what happens when retirement goes wrong. Some clergy retire in their own parish, and then are at loggerheads with their successor. Some hoover up all the funerals at the local crem., and don’t declare the fees to the taxman. Some can’t let go.”
He purposely moved some distance away from his last parish. “I told my successor that I would keep out of his way, but I still visit friends there. He’s invited me back to participate in various things, and it’s been lovely, but I let it be known that I did not wish, as a rule, to be asked to come back to do weddings or funerals.”
He continues to exercise leadership at the church where he now worships. “It’s not a parish church, and I’m secretary to the legal body that owns the building and employs the priest. I’m aware that she could feel that I was a threat, but I don’t think she does.”
He no longer does much presiding, but is looking forward to doing so shortly, at a parish with a vacancy. “They have a totally different theology and churchmanship to mine, but, when the churchwarden rang me, I didn’t have a good reason to say ‘I can’t help you.’
“Many times, as a vicar, I have phoned around retired clergy: ‘I’m going on holiday. I need cover.’ So I do feel a sense of obligation to help when asked. But I hope it’s not too often.”
He has just had his permission to officiate renewed, and will be 77 when it next comes up for review. “I will then consider: What’s my health like, and my energy levels? Am I still fit enough to drive?”
Meanwhile, he is “doing all sorts of other things”. As well as the church choir, he sings in two choral societies, for which he has helped to organise concerts. He has also been involved in setting up a new charity locally, which helps people to overcome their isolation. “I wasn’t the prime mover, but I did a lot of the running around to make things happen. We’re just getting our first referrals from GPs and social workers, and it’s quite exciting.”
The Revd Liz Smith retired at 60, two years earlier than she expected to, on advice from her doctor, having been Rector of Shepton Mallet for eight years.
IT WAS “a sudden and very difficult ending”, Miss Smith recalls, and “really quite painful”. For a while she “felt quite angry” towards God. She had had no preparation at all for retirement.
The Revd Liz Smith
She had been ordained deacon in 1990, and had previously worked as a careers officer, and as a home-care organiser for a local authority, and priest in 1994. She already owned a house when she was ordained, which she had rented out and eventually sold to the tenant. With the aid of a lump sum from the Church of England Pensions Board, she was able to buy a small ex-council house when she retired.
She had made friends “outside the church” in her last parish, but ended up living 20 miles away, in Warminster, “which wasn’t my first choice”, she says. “I didn’t know anybody here at all, and I’ve found it very difficult to make friendships. For a single person, retirement is very costly, because suddenly you’ve got to create a life for yourself.”
In particular, she wasn’t prepared for the loss of position. “I think I missed knowing what was going on in the community. It took me quite a while to adjust to that, and I felt quite aimless for a time. I had quite a strong sense of call, and that was very difficult to let go of. It was the pastoral care of people that I missed.”
After six months, she duly applied for permission to officiate. “The church I now attend has had various vacancies, and that has been helpful, because I’ve been able to minister in a way that has been fulfilling.”
Having been a careers officer, she was very conscious of her transferable skills. “I know that I like talking to people and listening to them — that’s my God-given gift, I suppose.” Her advice to other clergy facing retirement is to be aware that their skill-set can be used outside the Church. “I think that’s really important. It’s been very important for me.”
Since retiring, she has chaired the board of governors of a state primary school. She leads walks locally — “a very pastoral experience”; she is involved in Warminster Chat Café, “listening to people who need to have a conversation”; and she runs a knit-and-natter group at her church.
“One of my aims is to talk to at least one person every day — about anything. I try to be available to God, and I do pray that God will lead me in his ways today. Living alone, you need to make contact with other people.”
Miss Smith also does some work for 2Restore, “which is about healing wounded churches”.
How will she know when her calling is complete? “I think God has to show me that,” she says. She is now 72, and “certainly doing a lot less than I did before, in terms of leading worship”. It has taken her a long time to think through what it means for a priest to be retired. “Do I say ‘Yes’ to every request for help? I think clergy can get very caught in a sense of obligation to the Church.
“I’ve got the freedom to respond if I’m needed, but I’m getting better at saying ‘No’, partly because I know that if I do too much, I will be ill.” Her new doctor has told her that she really needs to retire for good.