Money blog: ‘Priests don’t get a salary – and I’m asked one question most frequently’ | Money News

If you’ve ever spent your Monday morning commute daydreaming about starting afresh with your career, this feature is for you. Each Monday, we speak to someone from a different profession to discover what it’s really like. This week we chat to Rev Helen Harknett, priest-in-charge at St Philip and St Mark’s in Camberwell, southeast London. 

Priests do not get paid a salary… my stipend is £31,063. The stipend is not a salary. Parish priests are not employees, but office holders. The stipend is paid to enable the clergy person to exercise their ministry without the need to take another job to earn their living. It is intended to provide adequately for a clergy person to live during their working years and into retirement.

Sometimes we get a rise… it depends on inflation, usually – but the stipend is fixed.  And we don’t get bonuses. 

Some of the accommodation we get with our roles can be terrific… I could not afford to live in my current house if it didn’t come with my job – and I realise I’m really fortunate in that. However, we don’t get to choose where we live, and it doesn’t belong to us so, in many ways, we’re stuck with what we get. For example, my house is large, but doesn’t have double glazing so I really struggle to pay for heating it. A pension isn’t a perk, and it’s very modest. Basically, the rewards are never going to be financial in this role… the biggest and most obvious perk is the access I get to other people, and often at the most significant moments of their life: birth, marriage, death. We tend to see people both at their happiest and at their most vulnerable, and that is always a great privilege. 

Career progression depends on… who you are, what you enjoy, what your gifts might be. Everyone is a trainee (a curate) to begin with, and this training takes place within a parish. After that, you might run your own parish church, or go into one of the many forms of chaplaincy – prison, school, university, hospital, armed forces – or a diocesan job, meaning you work for the whole area in one particular field. More senior roles exist within all these contexts, and there is also Cathedral ministry, or being responsible for larger groups of people and parishes such as being an archdeacon or a bishop. But none of this is guaranteed: we believe that we’re called by God to minister in particular ways, so hopefully we fulfil our vocation and get the roles that bring us most to life. This doesn’t always happen, but it’s certainly the aim!

My experience as a woman in a male dominated field has been… largely positive. There’s still a considerable amount of prejudice against female clergy, and a lot of it is not overt so is difficult to challenge. It’s still considered acceptable to be against the ordination or preferrment of women, for example, whereas it’s not acceptable to be against the people that are against us!  So forbearance can sometimes seem to work in one direction. But for the most part people are really positive about having women in senior positions, and say so regularly.

When I was seven, I told my parish priest… that I wanted to be a vicar. This was before it was possible for women to be ordained in the Church of England (or Wales). He told me to concentrate on my studies and become a lawyer or a doctor or something. So I duly shelved the idea. But in my late twenties, the sense of calling returned, by which time it was possible for women to be ordained. So shortly after my son was born, in 2011, I offered myself for ordination.

It was not my first job… before this I was a portfolio manager, working for an elevator company. I was responsible for customer retention, managing complex and sometimes conflict-laden relationships between company and client.

The Vicar of Dibley was so important because… it came out not at all long after the first women were ordained in the Church of England. Because it was done with humour by the brilliant Dawn French it helped dispel some of the fear around having women as priests – would we be able to do it? Would we change the Church beyond recognition? The programme showed that we’re all just human with our various gifts and flaws, and maybe even that being a woman could be a bonus in some contexts. It also humorously showed some of the prejudice women priests were – and still are – subject to. Fleabag did a different thing, I think: it showed perhaps our great need of what the Church offers, how compelling and attractive it can be, and how counter-cultural. Both demonstrated really well, I think, that priests are just people with a very particular role, and how others can project their longings – as well as their prejudices – on to us.

No day is the same… but an average weekday begins with the school run after which I return to church or to my home to say the Daily Office (prayers), sometimes with others, sometimes alone. There is usually some sort of community event each day; so we run a toddler group and a lunch club, at which we play, eat, dance, chat, listen – deepening relationships as we do so and creating safe spaces for people to be.In the afternoon, I might visit someone who is sick or housebound; sometimes taking the Sacrament (consecrated bread) and oils for anointing with me. It’s remarkable how many people, even those who do not profess a faith, request prayer and accept the offer of anointing in the face of any adversity. The evening usually brings with it a meeting of some sort: an interfaith meeting, or an event planning meeting, a reflective practice session or bible study. And then, within the planned day, space is always found for the pastoral emergencies, the day to day maintenance of the building, and administration. The day ends in prayer.

To become a priest… once you’ve been through the rigours of the discernment process and you’ve been accepted by the Church of England for training, you must then undergo some form of theological training. I, for example, studied theology residentially at Westcott House in Cambridge, but there are many different training pathways and academic awards to suit students’ different learning styles, experience and familial situations. Alongside academic training, as an ordinand (someone hoping to be ordained), you also enter into a time of formation, as you learn to inhabit your calling to priesthood. Your training then must include supervised mission, ministry and worship in a ministerial (usually church) context. You are also encouraged to explore some sort of chaplaincy (prison, school, hospice) during this time, as well as learning the skill of reflective practice, ideally using this time to become more aware of your psychological profile and trigger points.

The most important skill to learn… (though I am still learning this!) is to rely on and trust God. At the ordination service the Bishop says, “You cannot bear the weight of this calling alone. Pray earnestly for the Holy Spirit.” Relying on and resting in God and not on your own talent, strength, tenacity, is the key, I think, to a long and fruitful ministry.

‘Recruitment’ is truly the business of the Holy Spirit… though there are of course ways in which we, the Church, can encourage and hopefully inspire some of those among us to consider ordination as a possibility. I am one of the Bishop of Southwark’s area directors of ordinands. This means that I work with candidates who are exploring a sense of vocation to the priesthood. In the diocese of Southwark, we are intentional about encouraging demographic groups which are more sparsely represented in Holy Orders. At present, there is an ongoing focus on seeking out and encouraging UK ethnic minority candidates and also those from white working class backgrounds.

The biggest misconception about my role is… that we work only on Sundays. But also, I would say that there is a misconception that priests spend most of their time in church. We don’t. We spend most of our time with the people we have been sent to: feeding the hungry, offering companionship to the lonely, helping people to fill in forms and to navigate the world in very practical, unglamorous ways. 

I know the trends say that church attendance in the West is diminishing but… the church at which I serve was poorly attended when I arrived five years ago. That is no longer the case. So, for me, the “job” has become bigger and busier and I am recognising over and over again a yearning for meaning, a yearning for belonging, a yearning for something “other”. 

Of course I question my faith… when we stop asking questions we stop getting answers. Jesus himself asked hard questions of God. We have inherited a faith that encourages questions, thought and  criticism. 

Once at a baptism I… asked a woman whose three year old was being baptised when her next baby was due – gesturing excitedly at her stomach, which looked pregnant. She wasn’t. And in a panic, after apologising, I said that I thought I’d  heard something on the grapevine that she was expecting again. I hadn’t. I was just embarrassed and, rather than straightforwardly apologising for getting it wrong, lied in an attempt to make it better and save face. This only made things worse, as the woman then imagined everyone had been making judgements about the size of her stomach. Lying tends to magnify problems, rather than solve them, whatever we might think when we’re afraid, or in a tight spot.

The most common question people ask me about God is… “where was God when… (insert terrible tragedy)?”

The recent scandals have affected the perception of the Church in a way… though there have always been scandals and disagreements in the Church, so although the subjects might change I’m not sure this is anything very new. I believe, though, that good can come of it: we have to work really hard, now, to show that we’re open and transparent, that we care for all people, without exception, that the Church can be a safe place for everyone. It’s quite right that we’re criticized when it’s shown that this is not the case, and we need to say sorry, ask forgiveness, and then do better.

My family is vital to my wellbeing… to my identity, to my sense of joy, and to my work.  I cannot imagine being a priest without the support and love of my family.