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I’m sometimes asked how I manage to be on the telly box and radio and still have time for ‘proper’ vicaring. It helps that I don’t have a church of my own. I’m like a supply vicar, helping voluntarily when churches find themselves with a vicar who is off or ill or when they are in-between appointments. St Michael’s near where I live is one such church and so Christmas eve I was pressed into action. I stood at the door welcoming folk coming in and handing out hymn books, wrapped up against the cold and masked up against the covid.ÌýOne gentleman’s glasses were so fogged up he didn’t even realise it was me at the door greeting him. After he’d wiped them on the corner of his scarf, he put them back on and exclaimed ‘Oh it’s YOU, how lovely!ÌýÌýA proper one!’ Now he meant no disrespect to those who have been working hard leading services at the church but it had been a while since a collared-up priest had been, and he was pleased to see me.Ìý

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The fogged-up worshipper probably didn’t realise what a profound effect his unguarded exclamation of ‘a proper one’ had though. There have been many times when I’ve been accused of not being ‘a proper one’. My personality, my values and my gender have all been cited by some as reasons why. But here was someone naming me as ‘proper’, good enough, wanted and valued. A proper one.

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When the dreaded imposter syndrome hits and I feel like I’m not up to the job or my contribution is meaningless and inadequate, my faith tells me despite what I think, and how ill-equipped I feel, I am loved and called by the one who is the author of love itself. When a nagging inner voice torments me with accusations of not measuring up, it can take a lot to silence it, sometimesÌýit even takes someone else to wipe their glasses, see the truth and say it. I am proper and I am enough, my hope is that with encouragement and grace we might all be able more and more to see that truth for ourselves.Ìý

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