Two tough questions at the coffee shop

When someone asks to come and see me to talk, I instinctively work out in my mind which of three cate­gories they fall into. In my first 15 years in ministry, I would generally visit them in their home. These days I seldom do that; the distance from a Central London church and the time involved make the gesture so intimate and inconvenient that it tends now only to apply to the sick.

When all seems straightforward—the relationship established, the agenda clear—then we meet in my office. When the whole idea makes me nervous, and I suspect hostility or unpredictable interaction from a person whose mood I can’t rely on, I propose the foyer of our church crypt, or occasionally the church itself, where support from colleagues isn’t far away. If I just don’t know what this is about, or I sense the person is asking more of me than a conventional pastoral relationship, I suggest a coffee shop.

I’m pretty disciplined about my use of the word busy. Most requests to talk come with the almost obligatory preface, “I know you’re busy, but . . .” In the Church of England, clergy are granted a stipend precisely to ensure that they’re not busy: because they’re not engaged in commercial business to earn a living, they have time to be a pastor. So my default response is to say, “Talking to people like you is the most important thing I do.”