When Vicars have to leave their vicarages

This is the house that my Diocese has asked me to leave.

I lived here for 8 years in the wake of a divorce and previous period of unemployment.

It is the house where I managed to keep my relationship with my three children alive, sometimes taking them to football or tennis practice before returning to take the Sunday service.

It is the house where I learned something about the nature of suffering, and the joy of finding that some of the most surprising people are on your side.

One day, a letter arrived to say that my time in the parish was coming to an end. The term of my licence was shortly to expire and would not be renewed. A reason was not given, but I assumed that it was all due to the funding crisis in the church. All in all, I did manage to wheedle an extra two years out of the Diocese but now another priest has taken over my parish and a curate is shortly to come and live in my house. After 8 years, I realise that I had forgotten that this house does not in fact belong to me and that I actually have no house, I think that that was the thing I used to live in when I worked as teacher in Inner City Leeds long ago. Now I find myself in a cleft stick, looking to stay close to my family I discover that there are very few parish posts available within the 25 mile radius I have established as an acceptable distance from my children.

I have no job and no house to move to. In the face of impending doom, I reassure myself with the thought that something will turn up. That's what people usually say in such situations. I’m suddenly realising that this is not a movie and that it is quite possible that John Wayne is not going to come riding over the horizon.