How about a living wage for our poor clergy?

The Church of England has blasted the trumpet for social justice: all should be paid a “living wage”, enough to maintain a basic standard of living. Ironic, as clergy called to serve the Church itself are not paid a “wage” at all but a “living”.

My husband Shaun has given his life to the Church; 14 years as a vicar. He regarded himself (as did we, his family) as literally “living” the role, night and day – in the way he brought up his children as much as how he preached.

He was never off duty, and neither were we. People knocked in the middle of the night, and we welcomed them in. Strangers called during supper, and we shared it. Even clergy, however, need to live.

The living wage is calculated at £9.15 an hour in London, £7.85 an hour elsewhere. Now the Church itself is squirming because it pays less, though this week it has promised to pay “at least the living wage” by April 2017.

Shaun’s London stipend was around £20,000. Like many, we struggled, with four children: agonising whether we could afford food and, to be honest, not affording much else. But others live on less. We considered ourselves hugely privileged: in a spacious, designed-for-the-purpose Victorian vicarage (with a porch, so we could feed tramps in the warm while keeping our children safe) and Shaun was – eventually – given the “living” (lifelong tenure) so we were secure.

Then in 2004 he was tempted away by a dream post, which, as dreams can, turned into a nightmare. So for most of the next four years he was looking to move again. Quite simply, he couldn’t afford to apply for many of the jobs advertised. To see why, let’s look at some of those currently on offer on the C of E website.

In Alsager, a “Priest in Charge” (basically a vicar without security) is being offered “0.65”. This means 65 per cent of a stipend, currently £22,790, which I make £14,813.50 per annum. This is advertised as “part time” so might constitute an hourly “living wage”, even if no family could easily live off it. But the listing explains what the job entails: “Four days per week plus Sunday.” I make that five days – not what most of us would call part time.

The Diocese of Norwich is looking for a “house-for-duty assistant priest”, to help run eight parishes; Truro a “house-for-duty priest in charge”, also apparently full-time; Oxfordshire, three “house-for-duty priests”. What is “house-for-duty”? It means you get to live in a house. That’s it. No stipend at all. It used to be mainly for retired clergy – an essential provision after Synod voted for compulsory retirement (including eviction from the vicarage, often the couple’s only home) for clergy over 70.

Has “house-for-duty” become a euphemism for “unpaid”? The Church of England is defensive. No one has to apply for these posts, it argues, which presumably is exactly what unscrupulous employers say when offering a pittance to a Filipino nanny. Nor is it illegal to pay clergy a sum they can’t live off, because (technically) they aren’t “employees”. But nor is it illegal to pay below the living wage.

Nervous breakdowns among clergy are, sadly, no longer a rarity. In 2013, St Luke’s Healthcare for the Clergy found that 12 per cent of clergy are “struggling or barely coping” with the pressure and more than two thirds sometimes contemplate leaving the ministry. The book Public People, Private Lives (2009) cites “constant financial pressure” as a major cause of clergy family stress, describing “the knife-edge at the end of the month”, and vital help from (mostly maternal) grandparents for unthinkable luxuries such as music lessons. My mother always paid for our children’s shoes.

In 2004 we left our adored vicarage, for Shaun to take up his new post. As with any Anglican incumbency, the essential aspect of his remuneration was to be housing for his family. It didn’t materialise. For the best part of a year our family of (by then) seven, including a toddler and two with disabilities, was homeless. In any other line of work you would sue. But we are all Christians and gentlemen. Besides, who would employ a vicar who sued?

Instead, we applied to our bishop for protection. He simply advised Shaun to seek another post. His successor, from the eight-bedroom house in which he lived alone with his wife, asked: “Can’t a friend house you?”

A kind friend had, 500 miles away in another country. There, for several months, I lived with two of the children (the youngest, and one who was ill) while Shaun sofa-surfed with friends to continue in his job. We were desperate. He had been applying for jobs for three years but unbeknown to us, all his applications had been blocked by just one Church official – because he didn’t like me. As I say, in any other business you would sue.

So I told Shaun he must apply for unpaid posts, despite his protests that we wouldn’t be able to live. Happily, he was offered a school chaplaincy, and is now paid as a teacher. For the first time in more than three decades we can live on his salary without help from friends and family.

I don’t blame my beloved Church of England for not having the money; she has been in financial meltdown for years. But perhaps soft-pedal on the motes in others’ eyes and not limit concern for social injustice to kiosk workers?

One of our sons used to talk of ordination. To my unspeakable relief, he has now decided on a career that might feed his future family – as a freelance bass guitarist.