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Pressing the panic button
“Hello,” I said, walking up to the nearest desk on the third floor, “I’m the chaplain. What happens in this office?”
The young man behind the desk exchanged embarrassed glances with his colleague across the room. I didn’t actually see anyone pressing a button under their desk, but someone must have done so, judging by the speed with which I found myself standing between two large men in suits.
Courteously, I was escorted through a door at the far end and was required to identify myself to the occupant of this much smaller office with a fine view over the shipyard and of a frigate in the fitting out basin.
After a while, he seemed satisfied with my answers. ID having been checked, my escorts withdrew, and I learned, as the conversation became more relaxed, that I had wandered, all unawares, into the Ministry of Defence office. After a pleasant chat, we parted on amicable terms. “You’re very welcome to visit and speak to the staff,” were his closing words, “but don’t ask, ‘What happens in this office.’ ”
That, I have to say, in the only time I experienced any problems with introducing myself, as I clambered about partly-built ships and visited the admin buildings during my years as a voluntary chaplain, while my day-job was being a parish minister.
That being the case, allow me to introduce myself…
My name is Allan Webster, and I’ve recently moved to Dundee with my family (and dog) from the village of Letham, in Angus. In case you’re wondering where there was a warship-building yard within easy reach of Letham, I should explain that my first parish was in Glasgow, in the borderlands between Partick and Whiteinch marked by the Clyde Tunnel approach road. After eleven years there, my wife and I packed our three kids into the car and drove east into the sunrise one snowy morning, and watched as the removal men unloaded our worldly goods in our new home in a large village which was rapidly becoming a dormitory suburb for people who work in Dundee, Forfar, Arbroath and even Montrose.
Another eventful spell of ministry, including chaplaincy of the village school, membership of Angus Council’s Education Committee, and the establishment of a twinning between Letham and Monasterboice in the Republic of Ireland, lasted for another eighteen years.
While I have had a strong sense of God’s call into full-time workplace chaplaincy for a long time, settling into the new routine is requiring some adjustment. It is a common misconception that ministers only work on Sundays (and probably get double time for it as well) but I can refute both of these allegations. However, I now find myself not having church services to prepare every week, and had a moment of serious panic as I was checking my pockets on leaving the house one recent Sunday morning on the way to church – “Help! I’ve lost the church keys!” - only to remember that I don’t now have a set of church keys to lose.
Much of my time is now spent wandering into offices, shopping malls and other hives of industry where people earn an honest crust, and listening to their stories about Life, the Universe and Everything (as a Christian minister, I happen to believe the answer to such questions is not really “42”, but is to be found in God).
If I do come into your place of work and ask, “What happens here?” please don’t press the panic button but welcome me in. I look forward to getting to know you.
Allan Webster