Published in newsletter of Chrism (Christians in Secular Ministry, UK)
Priests and theologians who choose to do precarious manual jobs as an expression of their Christian beliefs experience work in an intense way.
In his project #PriestsInPrecariousWork Hugh Williamson asks worker priests about their working lives and listens to what they say.
Some examples from Germany, Netherlands and France, recorded at a conference of worker priests in Herzogenrath, western Germany.
Germany: Maria Jans-Wenstrup, 57, a former nun, packages consumer goods at a parcel delivery centre
I alternate between shifts from 6am to 2pm and 2pm to 10pm. I work every second Saturday. Its hard work. This was getting too much for me, physically, so I asked to reduce my hours. Recently I was given a permanent contract, which I didn’t expect but am pleased about.
It’s a chaotic place to work. We were lucky there was no major covid outbreak. We had to work harder in the pandemic as everyone was doing internet shopping. We parceled off mountains of packets of toilet paper!
I’m happy to be working there. Why? Because of the colleagues. When the company started two years ago it needed lots of people, quickly, with few qualifications or German language skills required. The biggest groups of colleagues are from Syria, Iraq and Eritrea. For a long time I was the only German, besides the managers of course. An Iraqi man working near me was a psychiatrist for 20 years. There’s an Iranian woman who was a bookkeeper and Syrian sports teacher near me too.
There’s a special atmosphere, a real spirit, when we are working together.
Do people know my background? Everyone there has a particular story. No one is trained for the jobs we do. My background is nothing special.
Netherlands: Anne-Marieke Koot, trained as a Catholic pastoral worker, cleans private homes for Dutch cleaning company.
We are going through the fifth re-organisation in the 20 years I’ve been doing this work. We’ll soon have new bosses. We’re worried if we’ll get the same job conditions as before, the same pay and holidays? It’s really difficult for my women colleagues with kids. It shows how insecure our work is.
Anne-Marieke Koot
I’ve been on the works council (representing workers’ interests to the company) since 2006. It’s difficult as the managers keep changing. They are young, around 30, and move on. We stay.
It’s tiring work. In the pandemic it was worrying too. We worried about the health of the people we clean for, often older people, on their own, in small houses. Social distance was difficult, also as they were lonely, they wanted to talk a lot.
The work can be monotonous but I want to continue this life. I found a way of keeping motivated during the pandemic, by writing a short text every week about an experience at work. My former theology professor reads them and writes a short response too. We have 60 texts by now.
Vuk+, 52, Protestant pastor, prepares meals in a hospital kitchen, does the dishes, takes out rubbish, delivers food to wards.
We are about 12 people in the kitchen, working shifts. The pandemic was really tough for many - the situation at work, in families, illness, quarantine, loneliness and little chance to compensate for the pressure. Its only now that the effects of the pandemic are noticeable with colleagues getting sick. At least two people are sick every week, many of them for longer periods because of often psychosomatic illnesses. Everywhere people are saying, “I'm running out of energy. There’s now more pressure than before Corona”. Companies have restructured their work and distributed more work on fewer shoulders. Being sick is a way of coping.
The kitchen is a world of its own - every place of work probably has its own rules. I like to work in the kitchen, even if the tone is not exactly socially acceptable: I prefer someone to say to me: "You f**king w**ker, work faster!", to tell me the truth, rather than wrap up the message in cotton wool.
“F**k yourself!” That's how it is in the kitchen: banter, racism, insults, sexism are often normal. It's a way of dealing with stress at close quarters - afterwards everyone sits together and laughs and smokes. But that is not easy for many. It takes time to understand: there is often more love in an outrageous word than in a friendly one.
The Church does not have a good reputation with them. Sometimes colleagues ask me, “Have you been baptized? Were you abused as a child too?”. Sometimes they take me aside, as when a colleague's father died. There are also conversations during the breaks. Sometimes it's just a quick gesture, a touch while working.
I worked as a pastor in a parish for 10 years. I remember when I told parishioners 16 years ago that I was going to do precarious manual labor, some thought I was just going through a phase. One said, “You are not a worker and you cannot become a worker. And do you know why? Your father and grandfather weren't workers either. ”It's true. I am not a "worker", but I work, I am there.
+ real name withheld
France: Jean-Paul Havard, 62, Catholic priest, farm worker with dairy cattle
I work as a farm hand at two farms. I help the farmers bringing the cows for milking, and then milking them. For each of the herds I look after there are around 50 cows.
I’ve worked on the land before, in vineyards, with migrant workers, for many years. Working with cows is different. Its lonely work. They have their moods, just like me! For instance, one cow is always the first for milking. Each cow has its place in the herd.
Its hard work, especially for the farmers. They work every day, all year round, even if they get sick. I’m also there so they can take a break sometimes.
It’s a privilege to be able to work on the land, to hear the call of the earth. It helps me too. In the last few years I’ve been depressed, and I’m not fully out of it, but my work is the basis of having a balance in my life.
I’m also part of a team of priests in my local parish. I visit people when they are sick, when they are old. We help share the gospel with people, in the church, and in daily life of the human community.
France: Lionel Vandenbriele, 40, Catholic priest, ambulance driver
The pandemic has been difficult in many ways. I work in a private ambulance company, transporting patients to hospitals. In the beginning, the amount of regular work diminished considerably. I was on short-time work for two months.
Then we started transporting covid patients in response to emergency calls. The risk of contracting covid was really stressful. It was a difficult situation. Also because our employer had moved us to a reduced work schedule, with fewer hours and less pay. It was really hard for colleagues with families. I felt privileged not to be in this situation. I regularly work with the same person in my ambulance. He is married and will soon have a child. We get along well.
The work itself is tough. There is intense pressure from management - there is more to do than before and every second is counted. They see us as numbers, we don't really matter to them. We try to resist, not only so as not to be slaves, but to truly be with the people we serve.
Germany: Albert Koolen, 61, Catholic priest, sorts packages at a parcel delivery centre
Until last March, at the beginning of the pandemic, I worked at a car rental centre at an airport. I was the chairman of the works council. I’d helped organize the workers to form the council. But then the company collapsed and I was unemployed. That felt like a really difficult time.
I decided to do some re-training, to drive a forklift truck, as I’d heard this might help me find work in a parcel delivery centre. There are many centres near where I live, with hundreds of workers. They are the industrial factories of our era.
Last October I got a job, through a temping agency, in one of these huge hangers. It’s a centre for sorting parcels. 900 people work there. Many of them are from south Asia, such as Sri Lanka, Bangladesh. From Africa too.
We mostly speak English. We don’t ask too many questions, just try to get on with each other. But people sometimes open up. The other day a man from Eritrea told me his story of coming to Germany. He was on a makeshift boat across the Mediterranean. The boat sank, 400 people were on board. Some of them drowned. He lost everything.
It’s hard work. I’ve developed a hernia, which has got bigger. I’m having an operation soon.