Gervase Phinn: Faith, hope – and humour

I was once asked to speak to a conference of Anglican clergy at Catterick Camp. I have never met a more good-humoured and optimistic group of people in my life. The army chaplain I sat next to explained that the priest unquestionably has to have the qualities of sensitivity, compassion

and generosity but of equal importance was for him or her to have a sense of humour.

In a Dales primary school assembly I attended, a young curate related the parable of the Prodigal Son to an attentive hall of children who came largely from farming backgrounds. He described how the younger son had squandered all his father's money and then had returned home penniless, ashamed and repentant. He told them how the father, with great happiness in his heart, had run to meet his son and how he had put his finest robe around his shoulders, sent his servant for his best sandals and ordered the fatted calf to be killed for a splendid feast to celebrate his son's homecoming. When the elder son heard the sound of the music and laughter and the news that his brother had returned, he was not pleased and would not enter the house. "I have worked like a slave all these years for you, yet you have never even offered me so much as a goat for a feast with my friends. Now my good-for-nothing brother, who has spent all your money, turns up and you kill the fatted calf for him."

"Now children," said the curate, "who do you think was the happiest of all?" There was a forest of hands. He picked a small girl in the front row. "The father!" she cried.

"That's right and who do you think was the saddest and most disappointed about the son's return?" Before he could pick anyone, a boy at the back shouted out: "Well, I reckon t'fatted calf can't 'ave been too 'appy."

A former Bishop of Bradford tells the story of how he visited a primary school, taking with him his vestments, cope, mitre and crozier. He explained to the children that the hooked staff carried by a bishop was a symbol of his pastoral office. Following his visit, the children wrote thanking him for coming to school. One child wrote: "Dear Bishop. Thank you for coming to our school. I now know what a crook looks like."

The chaplain explained to me that the vicar's wife also needed to have a sense of humour, indeed a sense of fun. He told the story of the wife of the Vicar of Bleadon who always delighted in answering the telephone with the words: "Good morning. The Bleaden Vicarage here." I am indebted to Mark, my editor at The Dalesman, for this amusing anecdote: A country parson lived with his son and grandson. As is often the case in the country, each had been given the same Christian name so that there were three generations of John. The parson's harassed wife one day answered the telephone with the words: "Which John do you wish to speak to? Is it John the father, John the son or John the holy terror?"