Over the last 18 months, I've been on the Church of England's ordination pathway. I’ve felt called for 15 years, but life — and God — wanted to shape me into the “best worst Christian” my friends love me for. Just before Christmas, I had my Carousel Conversations.
Carousel Conversations are the Church of England’s first formal step in discerning a person’s call to ordained ministry. They’re a series of short, focused, 20‑minute interviews assessing vocation, character, and readiness. They don’t guarantee selection, but shape the journey ahead and reveal how others see your calling. My ADDO, M, said that neither I nor my two fellow candidates should receive anything lower than a 4.
Scores 1–3 mean a candidate isn’t yet showing the expected qualities. It doesn’t mean they’re “unsuitable,” just not ready to move forward. A 4 meets expectations; 5 shows competence and development; 6 shows strengths beyond the standard; and 7 indicates exceptional strength significantly above expectations. M warned that 7s are rare — more than one even rarer — so aiming for 4s and 5s was realistic.
I went in prepared. Days of reading, research, and notes. I knew my calling, my strengths, and my weaknesses. Even so, I was nervous — the kind where Hannah sat with me because she knows that, despite how confident I look, inside I’m terrified.
That’s the thing about me. People always say I seem confident, but internally I’m full of nerves. Afterwards, I replay everything. Carousel Conversations were no different. I presented one way, felt another, and the feedback reflected a version of me I rarely believe exists.
Some conversations felt strong. Discipleship, the first of the day, flowed well. I covered everything I’d prepared, added more, and the adviser said he wished he had more time with me. I didn’t expect above a 5, but I knew it had gone well.
The Church of England conversation was similar. My theology studies carried me: liturgy, tradition, Fresh Expressions, even the failed 1928 Prayer Book revision. I spoke about online ministry and how the Church hasn’t yet mastered digital space. The adviser ended with, “You’ve given me so much to think about.” I hoped I’d scored well, but you never really know.
Communicating Faith was harder. I brought my walking stick; a symbol of brokenness, the Trinity, and shared human fragility. The adviser loved the metaphor, but later cut me off mid‑flow, which threw me. My autistic‑style communication means I get to the point, but sometimes not in the order people expect. Being interrupted unsettled me for the remaining conversation, especially when she later asked about something I’d been building toward. Still, the feedback matched the experience.
Safeguarding worried me beforehand — social and pastoral instincts don’t come naturally — but I handled it better than expected. Maybe I’m not as bad as I believe. Engaging with the World, focused on environmental mission, was solid, though I knew I’d missed bits as soon as I logged off.
Priesthood frustrated me most. I had so much to say about how God has tested and shaped me, but the conversation never opened the door for it. People might say I should have pushed it in, but in a 1:1 flow you can lose your moment as the conversation progresses. I knew immediately I’d left too much unsaid.
The Results
Seeing the scores, a 7, a 6, and the rest 5s was a surprise. The feedback was affirming, honest, and at points emotional. One line hit home:
“Engaging, intelligent, and at times profoundly moving, especially in his imagery around brokenness and being sculpted.”
They saw me. Not my disability. Not assumptions. And, reading the feedback, it didn’t feel like the advisers carried internalised ableism — perhaps a benefit of Zoom over in‑person bias. They saw the theology, the calling, the depth, the imagery, the brokenness‑as‑gift. They saw my digital ministry, community work, and academic grounding. They saw the person God has been shaping.
That changed something in me.
For years, people have suggested lay ministry instead of ordination — internalised ableism wrapped in polite advice, assuming I couldn’t cope physically.
God never called me to that. He called me to be a priest. Until recently, I thought that meant “just” a curate. Now I’m wondering if I’ve been selling myself short.
What sits heavily now is the delay around my C4 Faculty. Bishop Rose wants to meet with me about my divorce and remarriage. I understand why, but the waiting has been frustrating, especially watching fellow candidates move forward while I sit in limbo. Uncertainty floods me. What if she doesn’t approve it? Do I wait? Pause? Challenge and fight? I don’t know. That’s hard.
Despite the waiting, the results have grounded me. They affirmed my calling, ministry, theology, and the way God uses my disability as a lens rather than a limitation. They reminded me I’m not called to shrink back. I’m called to move forward.
Whatever happens next, I know this much:
I didn’t fail or fall short. I was seen — fully — and found capable, more than in some cases.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s the beginning of something bigger than I expected.
No comments:
Post a Comment