Even a Chaplain Must Retire

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Written November 2023

 
We were together in The Salvation Army Training College and then commissioned to go our separate ways in ministry. By the time we met up for a refresher course for a few months nearly 20 years later he and his wife had led and pastored congregations from the north of Scotland to the south coast of England, some with just a few dozen members, others a few hundred. They'd even invited us to preach in some. 
 
But it was really only when they had retired that we got to know them better. And that was especially when he joined the monthly men’s breakfast that I host. At the time this was particularly to support men who, like me, were walking alongside a spouse with increasing cognitive or physical impairment. He didn’t qualify on those grounds. He just wanted to be there.
  
Part of the time together was to share something of our own story. He told us some of his. How, though happily adopted, he eventually traced his biological parents. How he and his wife had found congregational ministry after many years of service increasingly draining, and how appointment as a chaplain at London’s main airport came as a breath of fresh air. He told us how they would meet bereaved relatives in the arrivals hall, how he’d met Pope Benedict in the VIP lounge, how he had supervised the redevelopment of multi-faith chapels around the airport complete with a cross, a star of David, ablutions and prayer mats. He told us how he’d approached British Airways, asking them to carry sewing machines to central and east Africa for women’s development programmes, and how they’d invited him to accompany the machines on one occasion, enabling him to visit some of the programmes they’d supported with 300 machines over the years.
 
But then came official retirement and with it the feeling that his task was not yet finished. So the next step was to apply for the post of part-time chaplain at a London teaching hospital. Sometimes he would come to the breakfasts with his bleep.
‘Just in case;’ he’d say, ‘I’m on call today.  Nearing the end and the need for a chaplain can be another kind of emergency.’
 
Without breaking confidentialities, he told us some of his experiences; of l his deep sense of satisfaction in fulfilling a vocation that goes beyond ‘official’ retirement. But then the temporary cessation of duty during the pandemic , followed by concern for his wife’s health led to the realisation that it was the time to step back from the work he loved. Formal employment would end. He wondered how he would cope with the sense of loss. 
 
He still attends the breakfasts and there’s often a story. Like trying to hire a mobility scooter for his wife, and the attendant recognises his voice. ‘You were chaplain to my mum; she loved you. There’s no charge for the scooter for you today!’ We hear about funerals being conducted, some of the people whose families remembered his ministry; of phone calls and visits to people who are unwell; and of course there are the dozen or so of us ‘breakfast men’. He’s part of us. 
 
Once a chaplain, always a chaplain, I say. His vocation doesn’t end.  Neither does ours. 
 
Thank you, Lord, for the opportunities you give us - yes, they come from you - even in our old age.
 
October 2023