Meet Erin Clark, Anglican Priest and Rector of St Matthew’s Church. In this interview we talk about her journey to ordination, life as Rector of a radical, LGBT-friendly church, and the impact of Covid-19 in Bethnal Green.

I grew up in a small town in the state of Michigan, with no intention to move to Europe. The move felt like almost an accident, a series of study and internship opportunities turned into ‘Oh, I’m living here!’”

And can you tell us a bit about the parallel journey you had, of re-finding your faith?

I walked away from it for a while, or certain forms of it that didn’t feel like my path. And as I re-encountered Jesus, through really staunch Christian feminists, I thought ‘Oh this is a thing, you can be a Christian and a feminist, and a queer person, who really loves justice,’ and I felt I was discovering a whole new side of faith. I was readjusting my relationship to my faith, and what was left when the fog cleared was just vocation. The whole way along I kept expecting them to say ‘you’d make a really good priest but please go home,’ but they never did! And all of a sudden I was meeting with bishops and they were going to send me off to be ordained, and here I am 8 or 9 years later.

Did you always know you wanted to enter the priesthood?

I suppose as a young person something like a vocation to ordination was developing but I didn’t have a name for that, or see people doing that whom I thought I could emulate. Then, as you do, you wonder, do I really want this? I was around churches through a lot of that time of questioning my faith and beliefs, making room for more uncertainty. I was raised around a very ‘these are facts, the bible tells me so’ Christianity.

Could you say more about doubt?

There wasn’t a lot of room for questioning, for doubt, all those things I’ve come to really treasure about my faith the way it is now. I needed to find those things, and find the divine in those things. Realise they weren’t things to be feared, but were part of the spiritual journey. It took a few years to walk away from what I’d been asked to take for granted, and see what stuck. A big part of that was seeing other people with a vibrant faith, making space for anger and challenge, people who didn’t just skate over the top of scripture and tradition, but were willing to get down in the muddle of things being very unclear, at times. Trying to find ways to work for mercy, peace and justice, whilst interpreting these ancient texts. Living alongside these 2000+ years of tradition, today, now.

How did your religious and spiritual practice affect your response to the pandemic?

We started the food bank before the pandemic was a thing, out of an abundance of space in the church. We started small, and I don’t think there were deep reflections on this as ‘our Christian mission,’ but the church is meant to be a place where the naked are clothed, the hungry are fed, the lonely are put in families, and the prisoners served and visited. It flows out of the gospel, our faith. It seemed obvious that a lot of people in Bethnal Green don’t have enough. Maybe we could try to take the edge off that? Then the pandemic hit.

The Bethnal Green Food Bank has been massively successful in meeting an urgent need during the pandemic. Do you have any tips to share from that experience?

Being a person of faith confronting need, I’ve tried not to obsess about ‘getting it right’ in terms of how we should serve the local area. Because there is so much need. We could have started anything and it would have mushroomed. So sometimes it's just being willing to show up, open the door, raise some money, connect with people in need, just give things a go… I’ve been thinking about the role of church communities, and faith communities in general, in keeping the human side to that provision. It's one thing to get a team of volunteers to pack bags and hand them out with five seconds of chitchat. It's another thing to see the whole person who might be at the Food Bank for various reasons, with different aspects to their need. What does a less provider/receiver relationship look like? That’s what we as faith communities can be really good at, but it needs to be smaller-scale. Keeping that relational aspect, seeing whole people, beloved, wonderful and bizarre! Who we can really serve fully, not just with a parcel of food.

And how did the pandemic affect you personally? 

Learning the importance of trying to do less, when I can. As a priest, and rector, a lot of my ministry is in the interruptions. I might have a day planned out, and the actual day will look nothing like it. There’s a bunch of interruptions, and wiser, more experienced priests have reminded me that it’s in the interruptions. Cultivate spaciousness, do a bit less. Keep my eyes on what we’re doing here, what people here need and want, rather than comparing it with loads of other places which are wonderful but have a whole other crew of people. Look at what is in front of you, what is yours to do, what is yours to do today. Not what are these other people are doing. Because that’s their work.

Tell us about St Matthew’s Church and the people it serves. What is it that makes you describe the church as radical?

I look out on Sunday and see folks who are gay, lesbian and trans, and it shouldn’t be so special that churches can be places where those people are wholly affirmed and celebrated, as beautiful beings holding god’s image. But I think the prevailing narrative at the moment is that Christians are really homophobic. So I’m really proud of St Matthews. I don’t shout about it a lot, because it incurs drama, but our unwillingness to shut up about celebrating diversity, sexuality, gender? I think that’s very cool. I can’t take credit for that, it’s the community here. I hope that as people witness it, there’s change in the church at large.

Tell us about your book “Sacred Pavement: a do-it-yourself guide to spirituality in the city.” What is it about?

 How do I live out my spiritual practice in a city, not just be trying to escape the urban area. Be present. It is a spirituality that is anti-escape. And this is so much bound up with the rest of my life as a priest, as a Londoner, as a person of faith, it flowed quite naturally. 

Erin’s book is published by That Guy’s House and you can see more or buy it on Amazon by clicking here.