Shoring up faith by seaside with our vicar
of the sands

THOSE turning for inspiration to the sea and sands while enjoying the Yorkshire seaside this summer will have seen more light in the darkness than that provided by the distant glow of the seafront cafes, arcades and bingo halls.

Holidaymakers taking the air on Scarborough’s own Golden Mile will have witnessed candles and lanterns lighting up the gathering sunset as the Church of England stakes its own claim to the South Bay Beach.

At the centre of this festival of light, the Reverend Samantha Foster, an Anglican ‘Vicar Without a Church’, is waiting.

She and her fast-growing team of volunteers are part of an experiment which has shifted the faith back to the very shores of Britain where it arrived from Rome.

If not walking on water, this fisher of men and women and her crew will at least risk getting a toe wet to round up the lost sheep.

And although Sam Foster’s church may not offer a single pew it can boast a healthy turnout of 400 a night – which many an English Cathedral would be grateful for.

Writing the names of lost loved ones in the sands may sound like a game we all once played at the seaside in between the donkey rides and candy floss, but it brings comfort to the bereaved as Sam seeks to persuade troubled souls to find solace in religion rather than one-armed bandit slot machines across the road.

The 31-year-old priest has made her parish on the beaches of Scarborough and Filey as part of an experiment by the Diocese of York born out of the Church of England’s Fresh Expressions initiative.

At first, the idea of a Fresh Expressions Pioneer Vicar for Scarborough Deanery raised eyebrows among those who see regular Sunday hymn singing as a cornerstone of Christianity.

Not only was she a vicar without a church, but a woman vicar and a young one at that, who by her own admission does not go in much for Bible thumping. For those wanting peaceful surroundings to work up a sermon or two without the distractions of running a parish, Scarborough could well be seen as a cushy number.

But why set up shop within earshot of the digital chirping of the fruit machines and the seafront yobbery sometimes associated with that immediate area?

“Quite frankly, we attract more people,” explains Sam. “We get people going into the arcades, young people drinking in the parks, and coming out of the Futurist Theatre.

“They see the lights and gravitate towards us.”

The lights are provided by the numerous candles and lanterns, lit and relit up to 400 times a night, during Sam’s ‘Sacred Space’ sessions between mid-June and the end of August.

It is clearly not a job for the faint hearted.

Scarborough’s South Bay attracts all sorts as night falls, after the family holidaymakers have packed away the bucket and spades to make way for the resort’s other main growth industries: drinking and gambling.

The traditionally more sedate North Bay is also increasingly a haunt for troubled and often vulnerable teenagers as its development has attracted a younger crowd to impromptu barbecues on the sands.

As the families melt away to their guest houses, they are replaced by girls clutching cider bottles and cigarettes, ready to party in the shadows between the chalets or in Peasholm Park.

But it would seem the Lord looks after his own. Miss Foster says she has had nothing but positive responses from those out and about on the sands in search of more than a jackpot win on the bingo.

“Generally, we get people who say it is really good to see you out here because we never go to church and would never have known about this,” she added.

“Often people are on the beach because they need space and the beach is a place of calm. Or they are coming out of the arcades or just walking past, feeling troubled.

“We just offer a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on. They might not want to pray. They might just want to chat. It is nothing miraculous. On the whole, it’s about people walking away feeling cared for and feeling a real sense of warmth – people who would not call themselves Christians.”

Seaside towns have often been regarded as places to run away to. Every resort can offer its own tales of personal woe and Scarborough is no exception. One of the first people Sam helped was a waitress in a local cafe. Few of the customers wondered why she looked so sad or seemed so engrossed in her mobile phone.

She opened up to the vicar and the story tumbled out. The woman’s relationship had broken up, and she had been separated from her young son. It was his image she spent so long looking at on her phone.

“I managed to engage her in conversation,” says Sam. “She was looking at the photos and working all hours to keep occupied. She had just separated from her fiance and had her three-year-old son taken from her. It was really awful. But we were there at the right time to support her.”

The woman became one of a large congregation from all walks of life built up by word of mouth and flyers posted on lamp posts and railings.

As well as her prayer meetings on the beach, Sam works with small groups who meet in private houses and anywhere else available, from pubs to bowling alleys.

A self-confessed rebel in her early teens, by the age of 14 Sam had changed and knew she was destined for the priesthood. She spent her 21st birthday undergoing selection for the cloth.

After an education degree at Sunderland, she studied theology at Durham and did her curacy in Fulford, York, before coming to Scarborough.

Her work in Scarborough and Filey South has allowed her to minister to non-churchgoers ranging from elderly retired couples on holiday to desperately homesick Norwegian students.

“We do not Bible bash. We just give people some ‘Sacred Space’. Sometimes they say ‘Thank you, that was wonderful and we see the church in a new light... you are normal.’”

The only thing is that, unlike a regular vicar welcoming back worshippers every Sunday, Sam does not know for sure whether her message has survived the journey home.