10/10/2026
Our Vicar has issued some guidance on telling him things he will actually remember. He assures us that he cares deeply about every word we say, even when his expression suggests that he is still trying to locate the intercessor.
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THE FOLLOWING PICTURE DESCRIPTION IS PROVIDED FOR THOSE WHO USE SCREEN READERS and those who may struggle to read all the text of the poster on a smartphone screen.
PD: A portrait-format poster styled as an old-fashioned parish notice, with black serif lettering on warm cream paper and a fine ornamental border. The title stretches across the top. Twelve numbered points appear in two columns, separated by a thin decorative line.
In the bottom-right corner is a pencil-style illustration of the Revd Tim Keen, a middle-aged man with receding hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wears a white alb and a patterned stole decorated with crosses. His eyebrows are raised, and his expression combines a kindly, apologetic smile with mild panic. He clutches a jumble of handwritten notes against his chest while holding up another slip of paper, as though hoping it might explain what he has forgotten.
The complete poster text reads:
Tim’s Guide to Telling the Vicar Something He Will Actually Remember
Issued by the Revd Tim Keen, who distinctly remembers being told something.
Your news matters to me. Your concerns matter to me. Your Uncle’s forthcoming operation matters to me.
Unfortunately, none of these facts improves my ability to retain information while putting my head through an alb.
A few gentle reminders:
1. The vestry is a place of preparation.
Before a service, I am wondering whether the intercessor has arrived, whether we have enough communion bread, and whether the sermon makes sense. I am also attempting to compose myself before leading Divine Worship. Your question about the Christmas Fayre enters a room which is already quite full.
2. Vestments do not confer additional memory.
The stole signifies priestly ministry. It is not an aerial. Pulling it straight while you explain a change to the raffle arrangements does not improve reception.
3. Thirty seconds before the opening hymn is too late for a routine notice.
If you have known about something since Tuesday, please consider telling Judith before Sunday. “I thought I’d catch you” makes this sound like a successful ambush. In several respects, it is.
4. Great Aunt Jemima is welcome in our prayers.
If she has “had one of her turns”, please write down her name and what you would like us to pray for. Please also establish whether she wishes this announced. We must not introduce the congregation to a medical development which Jemima has not yet mentioned to her husband.
5. The church door is a place of welcome and farewell.
After the service, I may be shaking hands, helping someone over the step, greeting a visitor and responding to a person who needs practical help. This is an excellent moment to say goodbye. It is a less promising moment to deliver a revised three-generation family medical history.
6. I am pleased about your grandchildren.
Their sporting achievements deserve celebration. However, if I last met Oliver at his baptism ten years ago, I may need a little more introduction than “He’s been selected!” At that point, I am still trying to establish whether we are discussing a football team, a parliamentary constituency or the next Dalai Lama.
7. “I enjoyed your joke” is lovely to hear.
Thank you. I shall treasure it. There were also several remarks about Jesus, should any of those prove useful during the week.
8. Requests for prayer deserve to be remembered.
“Please pray for my Uncle; he’s having his spleen removed tomorrow” matters far too much to entrust to a passing handshake. Please send me his name and the details. Otherwise, by lunchtime I may remember only that somebody’s relative is parting with something.
9. Please put it in writing.
Email, text message, a legible note or vellum are all acceptable. Vellum may take longer to reach me, but does suggest a commendable seriousness of purpose. Please include your name. “It’s me” is less identifying on paper than you might suppose.
10. A nod is not confirmation of permanent storage.
“Yes, of course” means that I have heard you and wish to respond kindly. It does not mean that your information has survived the arrival of three further people, a dropped walking stick and someone asking when the next PCC is.
11. Please observe the fifteen-minute memory exclusion zone.
Anything said during the five minutes before worship or the ten minutes afterwards should be regarded as unrecorded until supplied in writing. Beforehand, my adrenalin is surging. Afterwards, it is subsiding, I have given the service everything I had, and I may just have reverently consumed rather more of the remaining Blood of Christ than was wise on an empty stomach.
12. If it genuinely cannot wait, tell me clearly.
Say, “I need help now.” We will make time, or find someone who can help. If writing is difficult, ask us to help record the message. Nobody should go unheard because they cannot send an email.
Please help me give your news the attention it deserves by leaving me something I can return to when both my hands and my head are available.
The Revd Tim Keen
Your Vicar. Very much a human being.
Currently looking for the note you gave me.
St Faithful’s, Havnot · stfaithfuls.com
