Steve Morris gets an amazing welcome

It’s that time again. The eyesight has got worse and I need new glasses. I am a bit of a nightmare when it comes to glasses. I have taken quite a few pairs back because it is hard to get them to fit. I’m always a bit nervous about getting it right. But it can’t be put off any more because I’m finding it hard to read the service liturgy on a Sunday.

So I head down to Ealing to one of the many opticians in the high street. (By the way, why does Ealing need six opticians?) Anyway I get the eye-test out of the way and one of the questions on the form asks me what job I do. I innocently venture that I am a priest. At that point everything changes. The shop manager who is serving suddenly comes alive. His eyes light up.

‘Oh Father, we are so happy to have you here.’

I smile nervously. And what follows is a glorious display of love and affection – with many comic overtones.

‘Now Father, we can’t have you not being able to read the liturgy, can we?’ The shop manager is smiling indulgently at me. He then broadcast to the whole shop.

‘We have a priest and we must make sure his glasses are perfect.’

He whispers in my ear, ‘after all we are brothers in Christ.’ He smiles. He calls over two assistants and all three start looking at me and my glasses to make sure they are fitting perfectly.

The whole palaver takes 45 minutes and is marked by loud cries of ‘Ooo father,’ Frankie Howerd style.

In the end the whole shop is looking at me and smiling. I have to say I am smiling too. I have known vicars who refuse to wear a dog collar in public in case people realise what they do and want to talk to them. I have met people who have greeted my admission of what I do with indifference and hostility.

But here in the glasses shop I was made to feel really special. It was charming and a real throwback to a time when the parish priest was esteemed and loved. Now, I know that society has changed and we live in more secular times. But it was just so lovely to be valued like this.

The shop manager told me that he was Greek Orthodox and told me about his strong faith. We talked about the challenges of being a Christian. And he thoroughly cheered me up. This was not because I needed the esteem or wanted to be put on a pedestal, but the simple affection was rather lovely. It was an antidote to modern cynicism and world-weariness. It was, put simply, a real breath of fresh air.

Now I have the glasses and they are really good. They fit well and look rather groovy. I can read the liturgy perfectly and have stopped getting the words wrong. There is a whole article in some of the horrendous miss-readings that I have done over recent weeks. Without new glasses people would have started to speak! But now I can see properly and each time I put the glasses on I can hear the shop manager saying, ‘Now Father these have to be right when you do the Holy Mass.’ This makes me smile.

I think that priests work very hard, for very little money in sometimes hazardous conditions. The ones I know are heroes of the faith, who don’t look for approbation. Some of them, no doubt, get worn down by the lack of recognition and sniping. Many priests suffer from depression and stress and burn out is an all-too-common problem.

So if you need building up, boys and girls, email me. I can recommend a lovely guy who runs the opticians in Ealing. He’ll do you some great glasses, but more to the point he’ll build you up and give you a laugh and let you have a smile on your face. Forget counselling. My new friend seems able to spread a good dose of human kindness. And perhaps that is the purest Christian ministry of all.