The traditional Eucharist evokes for me – and for most people my age and older – the presence of God.  We are immersed in the ‘old hymns’, and even when we have enjoyed singing something more contemporary, it is too easy to sing ‘Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven’ and be transported not into the presence of God, but into the cloying mire of nostalgia.

John and I talked of the fact that as the Baby Boomer generation passes through, fewer and fewer people will have grown up steeped in the traditional forms of Anglicanism. It follows that we must be prepared to let these traditional forms die.

No doubt, there will be a time to grieve. The world nurtured into fullness by the Oxford Movement is a rich symbolic expression of what it means to be in Christ. But the fragmented architecture of this world of symbols and rituals can no longer carry the whole weight of Anglican Christianity.

Our responsibility as a Church is to map out together new symbolic paths for people to tread to find God. Our responsibility as older priests may be to withdraw and allow the new generations to explore new expressions: at least, we older priests should be explaining and consulting.

A couple of years ago I sorely embarrassed three teenagers in a parish where I was locum by ordering a Palm Sunday procession around the church.  The three servers led the procession, each dressed in a red cassock and white surplice, two carried candles and the third was the crucifer. A deacon followed them, and then me. I was singing lustily, so that the congregation would keep in time and our voices could re-join the organ when we returned into the building.

The motley congregation carried Zamia fronds. [Some Holy Weeks I want to re-name Palm Sunday ‘Zamia Sunday’!] As we turned the corner to the east end of the church, we came into full view of the weekend markets. People of all ages were browsing stalls, chatting and laughing. A few stopped to gawk at our strange procession. I could tell the kids were embarrassed as our procession lurched towards the walls like a car with a flat tyre. It was if our servers wanted to melt into the very bricks.

Afterwards, they were generous in describing their feelings. I had insisted on doing a traditional Palm Sunday procession and had led them into mortal humiliation. I had asked too much of them, they said.

As I thought about the procession, I wondered whether I had asked not too much of these willing kids, but too little. Instead of setting up a traditional procession, I should have explained to them the basic aims of the exercise: (1) to re-enact Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, at least in a minimalist way and (2) witness its importance to us to the shoppers.

We could have explored alternatives. Instead of the five ministers wearing quaint dresses, we could have worn ordinary clothes – or first century costumes. Instead of carrying Zamias, the congregation could have carried date palm fronds or other soft greenery. Instead of shouldering the fronds like green rifles, the congregation could have thrown them in the path of the clergy. Maybe the priest could have ridden a donkey; or better, maybe one of the teenagers could ride the donkey and wave humbly at the crowds.

In short, I missed the opportunity to build new symbols to resonate with new generations, and the default procession communicated little except adolescent mortification.

Yesterday my main embarrassment was to tell a locum that I disapproved of locums! However, we are in more than usual danger of making of our Church tradition an idol.

As an older priest, I should reflect on my own preference for an architecture of symbol and ritual which is losing its ability to contain people’s worship. I should turn to Christ, and be refreshed in the knowledge that Jesus established no Church; rather he inspired a movement of followers. The question I need to be asking myself goes in two directions: how do we find Christ in our worship? and how do we unearth new ways of worship which will show us Christ?