Year: 2019

Identity, Depression & the Church’s Culpability

by Jayne Ozanne, Editor of Via Media and Director of the Ozanne Foundation

“Your sexuality does not define who you are, Jayne” is a phrase I’m becoming increasingly familiar with – which I tend to hear most often from my evangelical friends who then (always) go on to say, “for your identity is actually in Christ” (as if I somehow I must doubt or negate that).

“Amen to that!” I will always reply.

But then I also always go on to add that my sexuality is actually an integral and important part of me, and that it is something that I should never ever have to hide or be ashamed of. Indeed, it is something I believe that I am called to celebrate and own – especially as I have spent so much of my life hating it and trying to change it.

And there lies the difference between us.

Of course our identity is “in Christ”. But if we truly mean that, then we need to own and celebrate who Christ has uniquely made us each to be. Tall, short, black, white, large, small, blond, bald, straight, gay. No shame. No jealousy. No comparisons. Just me in the body God has chosen to give me – or as the psalmist so beautifully says, the way I have been wonderfully ‘knit together in my mother’s womb’.

But there are times when I fear a new form of Aryanism has somehow crept into certain parts of the Church.

The one that expects us all (silently) to meet certain standards, dress in certain ways – where we need to have 2.2 children and all smile with gleaming white teeth! You know, those churches that are led by “muscular men with their beautiful wives” – who when they get up on stage (sorry, pulpit) immediately introduce us to their family so that we all know that they are without a doubt ‘good heterosexuals’.

Now, they’re the ones who I want to remind that their identity is in Christ, and that in fact our identity as a Church is made up by the fact we are the body of Christ. A body made up of unique and differing parts.

Accepting these differences and therefore who we each individually are is one of the most challenging journeys that most of us will ever face.

Young people wanting to be brighter, thinner, faster, more popular. Older people wanting to be younger, thinner, slower. Those on one side of the garden fence always wanting to be on the other side – where they perceive the grass to be far greener.

This dissatisfaction with who we are can be the root cause of so much unhappiness and more often than not leads us into dark places, which as the Archbishop of Canterbury has himself shared this week, can result in us becoming depressed.

This week we marked (I don’t really feel I can say ‘celebrated’) World Mental Health Day. It is both encouraging and refreshing to see leaders – especially men – being so open about their struggles with their ‘black dog’ as one famous male world leader, Sir Winston Churchill, called it.

I’m particularly glad that we are talking about it within the Church as there has in the past been a dangerous tendency of believing that mental health issues can easily be ‘cured’ by a few well-meaning prayers and a nice cup of tea.

Somehow we have also at times embraced a teaching that we are not being very good Christians if we aren’t happy and positive all the time…as if God is somehow ‘let down’ by our periods of sorrow and despair. This false teaching has caused more damage than nearly anything else I know and has been like salt in a wound to so many brothers and sisters who have already been hurt enough.

The truth is though that there are still many teachings and actions that the Church itself promotes that lead, I believe, to increased mental health issues for some of the most vulnerable in our midst.

Many within the Church know this to be true but don’t want the responsibility of admitting it. It’s as if they would be ‘letting the side down’ if they did, so instead we are all encouraged to carry on with the charade – and therefore we are never in a position to let the truth set us free!

I myself long for the day when we can have the equivalent of our very own ‘Truth & Reconciliation Commission’ in the Church, and where those in authority – that’s to say those who wear purple – sit and listen to the stories of those of us who have been so badly hurt, abused and/or traumatised by the Church. Would it be too much to hope that tears might be shed, that inadequate apologies offered – and meant – and that hearts would at last be changed?

For then the healing journey – for both sides – might finally start.

And then we would fully be able to grasp that our identity as a Church is indeed in Christ – a beautiful body made up of unique and disparate individuals. The whole body – especially the parts that some of us would rather not recognise and would perhaps like to disown or change.

And of course that goes for those on both sides of the argument!

October 11, 2019
On Brexit, Becket and Signs of the Times

by Lord Blair of Boughton, cross bench peer, former Metropolitan Police Commissioner and parishioner in the Diocese of Oxford

As a newcomer to this site, my task in writing a first post has not been made much easier by looking over some of the recent posts. I could not agree more with the Bishop of Manchester on the extraordinary outburst of unpleasant language in the Commons after the Supreme Court Verdict on prorogation. Then I found a fellow traveller in the post before that by Helen King, quoting from my favourite hymn, Faber’s ‘There is a wideness in God’s mercy’.

These posts cover just the kind of subject about which I thought I would be writing: pleas for decency and tolerance in a country more deeply divided than I have ever known it to be.

I am going to cover some of the same ground but thought I would do so perhaps from a slightly different and hopeful angle, although I particularly want to commend the Bishops and Archbishops for writing their letter of protest. I have no truck with any suggestion that the Church should not have a voice in politics in ordinary times, let alone these Brexit-filled days.

I want to reflect a bit on the nature of time, dividing it into those two Greek words, Chronos and Kairos. Chronos is what we think of as sequential time, with Kairos being a moment of indeterminate time in which something momentous happens.

These last few years have seen the breakup of many old certainties, whether of standards of behaviour in public life or the questioning of multi-national entities from the United Nations to the EU to NATO, together with the rise of populist leaders, irrespective of and sometimes not corresponding to left or right. Who would have dreamed of ministers of the Crown musing as to whether the Government needs to obey the Rule of Law: who would have dreamed of a US president allegedly pursuing a domestic political rival through the intervention of a foreign government?

And yet and yet, the Supreme Court did rule, unanimously, that the Prorogation was null and void, effectively had not happened. Impeachment proceedings against a sitting President have begun. In Austria, the far-right Freedom Party has lost the election and fallen out of government: ditto, Matteo Salvini and the Northern League in Italy. The refugee boats are landing again.

We live in Chronos but maybe, just maybe, there is some hope that a tide begins to turn. Maybe Kairos is just around the corner. This is a thought that has been growing on me since a visit my wife and I made to Canterbury Cathedral in August. We went to Morning Prayer at 8 am and then had a wonderful half hour, almost alone in the Cathedral, before the general public came in.

The Precentor very kindly guided us to the memorial altar to Thomas a Becket. I had not been there for years and it was a revelation – here is a photograph, with its crucifixes made of swords.

Murdered beside his altar, the death of Becket must have been the darkest of dark times for the Church and for people of good will. And yet. Thomas a Becket’s canonisation was one of the fastest in Christian history. Within two years, King Henry II, apparently responsible for Becket’s murder, had had to choose to walk barefoot into Canterbury and to suffer public and physical humiliation. The name of the saint was one of the most famous in Europe.

I am making no parallel between Becket and Brexit (probably the first time those two words have been put together!) but some parallel emerges between the feeling of helplessness in the 12^th century and now, as bad events and unpleasant behaviours seem to gather unrelentingly. However, we do not know what the future holds and what God’s purpose might be.

It seems to me that we need people of good will, including churchmen and churchwomen to be outspoken, not necessarily in support of one or other of Remain and Leave, but for the common weal, the common good, in support of decency and truthfulness and respect between us all. And that is on both sides.

In the great Commission at the end of St Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells the disciples that he is with them until the end of time. I know that he is in both chronological time and eternal time and that the outcome of our difficult issues may surprise us all. I can certainly conceive of it being surprisingly less bad than the outcomes to which the chronological sequence of events seems to be pointing. Pandora may emerge out of the box. The long history of British decency may prevail.

And those who appear ready to sacrifice decency in public life and language, may themselves not succeed. In the same chapel as the Becket memorial altar, the Dean and Chapter have placed four large ceramics, shaped rather like vases, to represent the four knights/tempters, who appear in TS Eliot’s ‘Murder in the Cathedral’. What transpired after the murder was the complete opposite of what the king hoped and the knights sought to accomplish. In that chapel, I noticed was it was difficult to tell whether the ceramics depicted knights or pawns. Who knows?

October 8, 2019
Power, Men & Politics

by the Ven Canon Peter Leonard, Archdeacon of the Isle of Wight, Chair of One Body One Faith and Member of General Synod

“The measure of a man is what he does with power.” So said Plato.

I have been reflecting on this statement a lot over the past week of so as I have watched the news. As I have seen politicians behaving like football hooligans and as I have seen grown men write disparaging tweets about a 16 year old girl attempting to do something about our climate emergency I have been wondering what it says about these particular men.

And it is men generally isn’t it?

I was going to start by excusing Plato’s blatant patriarchal approach to the world but on reflection is it mainly white middle-aged men in positions of power and privilege who have behaved in this way and been the reasons for my shock and reflection.

But why?

Why does any member of the UK government feel the need to use aggressive confrontational words? Words which they know will encourage others to behave in a similar fashion and indeed the threats against other members of Parliament is evidence of this. Why would any educated public servant think that sneering and laughing at another whilst lounging about in their place of work appropriate? What are these members of Parliament, usually white middle-aged men very keen on shouting down the women MPs, doing with their power? How are they displaying it to others?

I referred to them as public servants earlier on and indeed that is what they should be, but it occurs to me that there was very little going on in the Palace of Westminster which served the public. It seemed to be a fight about who had the real power, who was really in charge and pushing the boundaries as to how untouchable that power made them.

So back to my question why? It seems to be something about being challenged, about having the power questioned, or at least what they are doing with the power. And what happens when we are challenged? We react, we summon all the power we have to reassert ourselves as the powerful one. We shout, we’re rude, we use aggressive language. We try our very best to maintain our alpha male status like so many apes in a pack.

Alongside the scenes in Parliament we have seen the outrageous comments made on social media about Greta Thunberg. A 16 year old girl who is taking seriously the climate emergency facing us and trying to do something about it. That includes challenging others. It includes challenging the ‘adults’ who are in charge, leaders of nations, CEOs of multinationals and those of us who are so ingrained into the consumer society we can’t see what our actions are doing to the planet.

Once again those who hold power and privilege are challenged and they don’t like it. So they post criticisms, insults, sarcastic and unkind comments to try and reassert their power and regain their dominance. To ridicule the person making the challenge so that they are not taken seriously and written off by the masses.

When power is challenged it fights back, or rather those with the power fight back.

This is a story as old as humanity itself and we only have to read the Gospels to see that Jesus encountered it as well.

Jesus challenged those in positions of power, the Scribes and Pharisees and, much like those in the Houses of Parliament or venting on social media this last week, they didn’t like it. They argued back, they shouted, they ridiculed and attempted to make Jesus look stupid and eventually they incited others to do the same, ultimately convincing them to shout “Crucify, Crucify”.

It was amidst this, admittedly rather sad process of reflection, that I saw the following advert for The Guardian newspaper:

Change is possible. Hope is power.

In the gospels we see that the real power lay with the one who could not be defeated even by death. That real power lay in washing the feet of others, of riding on a donkey rather than in a grand parade, of a simple supper with friends and prayers in a garden, of a seemingly helpless man condemned to die yet forgives others as he does. Real power lays in the hope of making the world a better place and that change is possible.

Perhaps when it comes to the climate emergency the real power lays in the hands of a 16 year old Swedish girl who is persistent in raising the issue and taking action despite the resistance she encounters; perhaps the real power is not in the hands of the adults but in the hands of the school children who go on strike to highlight the crisis we find ourselves in which us adults seem to be doing so little about?

Real power lays in the hope of making the world a better place and that change is possible.

In Parliament maybe the real power lays in the hands of the many Members of Parliament who are fighting for a better world, who truly are public servants and who faithfully serve their constituents day by day? Does the real power exist in those who don’t resort to shouting and name calling, who retain their dignity rather than stoop to the lowest comment denominator? Is the power in those who believe change is possible and hope to play a part in making the world a better place?

For those of us who profess to be Christians we need to take Philippians 2:5-11 seriously:

5 Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,
7 but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
8 he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.
9 Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name that is above every name,
10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11 and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father

We need to consider carefully how people could measure us by what we do with power, as individuals and as Church institutions. Who challenges us and how do we react when they do? Are we on the right side of the power struggle? Do we believe change is possible?

Is our hope in Christ our real power?

October 4, 2019
Rhetoric of a Playground Bully or Political Discourse?

by the Rt Revd David Walker, Bishop of Manchester

At the heart of Britain’s, largely unwritten, constitution lies the principle that those charged with making decisions should do so free of improper influence or pressure. Members of governing bodies, whether they are responsible for a multi-million pound business or a tiny local charity, must act not in personal interest but in the best interest of whatever body they are appointed to serve.

At the top of the agenda of many of the meetings I attend or chair, just after “Welcomes and Apologies”, comes another standard item, “Declarations of Interest”. Members are required to let colleagues know if any matter for consideration impacts on them personally, especially if it might appear to a fair minded observer that their views might be biased in consequence. Sometimes that leads to me having to withdraw from part of a meeting, for example when the Housing Association I chair was considering buying some property from my diocese. Some public bodies, such as the House of Commons, maintain a public “Register of Interests”, to improve our chance of knowing if a member might be taking a particular position in order to feather their own nest.

Good decisions are hard to make in a climate of corruption. But they are perhaps even harder to make in an atmosphere of fear and threat.

My own diocese is twinned with one in Pakistan, where the Christian community lives in constant fear that any accusation of blasphemy will not be met with a fair trial. They have good reason, and not only because they are personally at risk of lynch law. Reputable lawyers are frightened to defend them, because of the enormous personal risk to their own lives. Judges who acquit them may also suffer death threats. The same has been the case for politicians who even suggest that the law be changed. Some such threats have been carried out. For many Christians the fear of unjust accusation and unfair trial is more debilitating than living with the perennial risk of terrorism.

And yet how can the nation move forward, whilst it retains an atmosphere where debate is stifled by threat, and decisions are hemmed in by the risk of extreme violence, even death?

I’d never thought that the lessons I have learned from my Diocesan link would be ones that had direct implication for the UK. But in these most recent months, and especially this last week, I’ve had to revise my opinion. Good and gracious politicians, men and women who have served their constituents and nation with integrity and courage, are making it known that they will not stand for election again. They cite the direct personal threats being made to them, their staff, and their families.

The contrast between the clear and calm way in which the unanimous decision by eleven Supreme Court judges was handed down, and the words spoken by some in Parliament a day or so later, could hardly be greater. Careful argument, and attention to the letter and spirit of our law, gave way to words likely, and possibly even by some calculated, to raise the emotional temperature beyond boiling point. When a powerful individual suggests that the way to reduce the threat of personal harm is for his opponents to give up their cause, this is the rhetoric of the playground bully, not of political discourse.

The letter now issued on behalf of the entire College of Bishops is almost unprecedented.

That in itself should indicate how gravely we view the tone of current argument. No matter how passionately any protagonist might want their own view to prevail, sincerely believing it to be in the best interest of our country, we cannot reach a good outcome by raising the threat of violence to such an extent that our opponents are cowed into submission.

We might win the battle but would have lost the war. Our nation would be immeasurably poorer in character and morality for a generation to come.

September 27, 2019
Wider Still & Wider…

by Prof Helen King, Professor Emerita in Classical Studies at The Open University and lay preacher in the Diocese of Oxford

This year we held a Last Night of the Proms party. We only decided to do this on the morning of the event and we weren’t sure how it would play out with our friends – a diverse group in terms of their nationalities as well as their faiths and sexualities, but everyone we asked said ‘yes please’.

In replying, one observed that she may need to leave the room for ‘Rule Britannia’. Another said he could be too shattered by doing the ‘Ride and Stride’ in aid of the Oxfordshire Historic Churches Trust – but he made it regardless. One received her first UK passport just after my invitation text reached her; the end of a long and highly frustrating process we’ve lived through with her over the last couple of years.

During the first half, we shared food, chatted in groups and half-watched the TV. We turned up the volume for the amazing Jamie Barton, particularly her sparkling, mischievous and confident take on ‘Carmen’. For the second half, we sat together, with a bit of explanation for the one Hungarian in the room, who hadn’t seen a Last Night before. People commented on the range of flags on display. We shared shrieks of pleasure as Jamie Barton appeared in the bisexual flag colours and then waved her rainbow flag. Like Bridget Christie in The Guardian, we ‘fell instantly and completely in love with her with every fibre of [our] being’. As another friend commented the day after, in the current climate to have waved a Union Jack would have been divisive.

Of the eight people in the room, only two of us were happy to sing along with ‘Rule Britannia’. I was one of those. One friend texted me the day after to say ‘Hopefully next year Brexit will have been revoked and I’ll be able to sing Land of Hope and Glory and Rule Britannia again’. Chatting about it afterwards, I said that the words ‘wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set’ matched my vision of a welcoming and inclusive place to live. Of course, I’m well aware that this wasn’t what they meant in their original context. Music by Elgar, text by A.C. Benson (son of an Archbishop of Canterbury), combined to celebrate Britain’s international role in 1902; two years after the Siege of Mafeking in which Robert Baden-Powell became a national hero, and the year when the Second Boer War ended with the Boer surrender. Writing just before this year’s Last Night, Andy Martin observed that the song ‘tapped into a nationalistic hysteria from which we have never fully recovered’.

But the choice of ‘wider still and wider’ for a 2012 Ofsted report into provision of music in schools shows that it’s not just me who has read these words in a more inclusive way.

The next morning, I was in church. One of the hymns was ‘There’s a wideness in God’s mercy/Like the wideness of the sea’, written by Frederick W. Faber. Here, the ‘wide’ kingdom is God’s kingdom, not an earthly polity. ‘Like the wideness of the sea’ was used for the title of a book on the debate over women bishops written by Maggi Dawn, a priest in the Church of England at that time resident in the USA. She has much to say about the theology of waiting and the damage done by deferring justice.

Frederick W. Faber was a priest in the Church of England who, like his friend John Henry Newman, converted to Roman Catholicism in 1845. This was within the period when hymns – as opposed to metrical psalms – were at last entering the Anglican tradition from the Nonconformist tradition; Hymns Ancient and Modern was first published in 1861. Many Victorian hymn writers were women; gendered beliefs about their greater ‘sensibility’ encouraged this expression. Faber wrote 150 hymns after he became a Roman Catholic, often showing a clear debt to his younger days and to the evangelical tradition.

There are various versions of ‘There’s a wideness in God’s mercy’ that are used today, not least because there’s a sentimentality here which doesn’t play out well today. The one we sang omitted:

Was there ever kinder shepherd
Half so gentle, half so sweet,
As the Saviour who would have us
Come and gather at His feet?

but included:

For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of our mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

‘Wider still and wider’ because of the ‘wideness in God’s mercy’ and the breadth of his love: for me, this is why the current movement for full inclusion of those of all gender identities and sexualities is part of the same movement as the admission of women to all ministries of the church.

Of course, like Barton’s rainbow flag, what unites some will divide others, and where I see tolerance others will see hijacking by an agenda they don’t support. But our Last Night party, where some sang and others didn’t, where some had been citizens all their lives, others only recently, and others not at all, gave me some hope of glory!

September 24, 2019
An Anglican Communion at a Crossroads?
by the Very Revd Dr David Ison, Dean of St Paul’s and Vice-Chair of the Ozanne Foundation

On holiday recently I read a book I was sent last year. It’s called The Anglican Communion at a Crossroads – The Crises of a Global Church, by Christopher Craig Brittain and Andrew McKinnon (Pennsylvania State University Press, 2018). It doesn’t look exciting (no pictures, even on the cover!), but is very helpful in understanding what’s going on in the Anglican Communion as it approaches the Lambeth Conference 2020 – and maybe too how we can re think ways we handle social and political conflict more generally.

Drawing on over a hundred interviews, the authors look at the last twenty years of conflict in the Anglican Communion, quoting senior church figures worldwide (mostly bishops), and looking in detail at the schism that occurred in the Diocese of Pittsburgh in 2008 which led to the establishment of the Anglican Church in North America.

There’s lots of interesting stuff here. It emphasises how complex is what’s going on – it’s not just ‘biblically faithful conservatives’ versus ‘enlightened liberals’. The conflicts within churches are being shaped by globalisation and communications technology, which make the tensions between the global and the local ever harder to manage, right across every aspect of our world from immigration to the environment, as well as about our understandings of sexuality.

Two examples to consider. Brittain and McKinnon found some truth in the argument that support for gay Christians in some Anglican churches of the Global North may lead to persecution of Christians by Muslims in Africa and elsewhere, but that political and economic divisions were seen by Anglican leaders as rather more powerful in fuelling Christian-Muslim conflict. More than that, being outspokenly anti-gay was seen as a necessary response to competition from independent Pentecostalist churches which were winning converts by portraying Anglicanism as a compromised church. And the authors also quoted an African bishop who hosted two delegations of visiting Anglicans to his diocese, groups of other Christians who were rejected by some of his churches because they either ordained women or ordained homosexuals; one Anglican delegation was from east Africa and one from South Africa – neither was from the Global North.

The reality is complex.

The Anglican Church is divided on many issues and at many levels, from local parishes to the worldwide Communion. Geographical boundaries have broken down, as cheap travel and communications have made it possible for bishops from South America or elsewhere in the Global South to give support to disaffected groups in the Global North.

And conflict has focused on sexuality as opposed to doctrine or the ordination of women, because new technology has made it possible: there was no internet in 1992 when the Church of England voted to ordain women as priests. Would the Pittsburgh schism have happened without the support of the internet? And how long will it be before ‘affirming churches’ in the Global North (or South) create a GAFCON-style network of their own?

Internal division within churches is perhaps more open in the Global North (hence the Church of England’s Learning in Love and Faith initiative), but none of us are good at handling it. Brittain and McKinnon’s study of Pittsburgh’s schism, and their musings on the Diocese of Sydney’s (lack of) relationship with most of the Australian Anglican Church, underline the need for reflection on the issue. They offer some analyses of why three current strategies to bring unity in the Communion aren’t working.
- The GAFCON strategy of being ‘biblically faithful’ depends on claims by a few to have the authoritative view (‘what the Bible says’), while suppressing internal divisions and disagreements by focusing on one issue (sexuality), in order to avoid classic Anglican disagreements between catholics and evangelicals (e.g. about lay people presiding at eucharistic services).
- The sentimental view of ‘the Anglican family’ with its historic ‘bonds of affection’ (and Brittain and KcKinnon quote a bishop’s image of ‘a bowl of spaghetti’ to describe the entangled links between Anglicans). These links struggle to survive when faced with groups who seek to disentangle tangled strands into straight lines, using the bible (GAFCON) or a conciliar synodical process (American Episcopalian Anglicans) as alternative sources for their authority, reacting against neo-colonial links with Canterbury.
- Attempts to find a mid-way between full communion and federalism by setting up managerial structures (e.g. the Anglican Consultative Council or the Primates’ Meeting), or proposing an Anglican ‘covenant’, have also been less than successful.
So, where are we going, in a binary-thinking digital and post-Brexit world?

GAFCON draws its power from opposing the acceptance of same-sex relationships, and defines the ‘other’ as unfaithful to the Christian gospel, in good sectarian fashion. But, just as history teaches us that a common enemy unites different groups, so it tells us that without that enemy then underlying tensions and divisions will re-emerge. So if part of the Anglican Church splits away, it will then itself split, because Anglican conservative catholics and evangelicals disagree about so much – it’s what they’re against that brings them together into a common alliance. Hence the importance for them of having sexuality as their powerful uniting issue, and why they will not accept compromise by seeing it as anything less than a first-order issue of true faith.

Let’s take a view that’s wider still: what can Anglicans learn from the Church universal in how it handles local diversity and common faith?

As the New Testament shows, from Acts chapter 6 onwards the church universal has faced divisions. Sectarian splits over the centuries have gone along with the use of an external enemy (e.g. Anglicans versus Roman Catholics) to hold internal dissidents in check. But over the last century or more, the Church universal has made messy, halting and yet real progress towards greater ‘communion’, in two ways.

One is by working together in mission across denominational boundaries, in common commitment to Jesus Christ. The other is by building local, national and international relationships to bring people closer together, which has included dialogue to help understand and ameliorate issues which have caused division, as well as setting up some structures (e.g. the World Council of Churches) which have provided a focus for meeting and for growing a common sense of purpose.

The most successful results of this have not been major projects for structural unity, or new ecumenical councils, but work towards greater ‘communion’ while recognising the integrity of local and national churches (and Christians of all sorts) in their particular callings.

This is a much healthier recipe for building up the Church universal, and its mission to a diverse and broken world, than trying to seize on a common enemy as a strategy for repressing dissent. It’s a good recipe for building up the Anglican Communion too. It also chimes with the views of both Jesus and Paul: ‘Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgement you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get’ (Mathew 7.1-2); ‘Who are you to pass judgement on servants of another? It is before their own lord that they stand or fall. And they will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make them stand’ (Romans 14.4).

Brittain and McKinnon’s book title puts the Anglican Communion at a ‘Crossroads’. Which other road might we follow, whether or not we’re Anglicans, and how might we refute the binary thinking of our modern globalised age?

Well, we might with our fellow-Christians begin with our shared desire to follow Jesus Christ and be centred on him, and not sit in judgement on those with whom we disagree. We could base our unity, not on a written founding document or declaration, but on our relationship with the incarnate God who loves us equally. And we might just learn to define ourselves by what we’re for, not what we’re against, and refuse to think of people as ‘the other’ – not only in relation to matters of faith, but to all our fellow-humans, standing up against the exclusion and nastiness of our current age, so that together we live out the gospel of the love of God in Jesus Christ.

Brittain and McKinnon’s book concludes with a question to leaders of the Anglican Communion, which we could broaden into a question for each and all of us. Will the voices calling us to ‘walk apart’ and end the experiment we’re making to live with difference (whether it’s in the Anglican Communion, the Christian Church, our political divisions or in the human race itself) continue to strengthen? Or can we redefine the crises we face into the challenge to follow the shared purpose and end to which God is calling us (mission, love, mutual service) and so transform the world in the image of Christ?
September 21, 2019
The (Rebel) Alliance of Allies

by the Rt Revd Paul Bayes, Bishop of Liverpool and Chair of the Ozanne Foundation

One of the delights of being involved in the Methodist-Anglican Covenant (I co-chair the national Advocacy and Monitoring Group) is the opportunity to build friendships and receive wisdom from Methodist colleagues. My Methodist co-chair, David Walton, is a past Vice-President of the Methodist Conference, and by profession a senior lawyer working with a large legal firm in Manchester. Like most organisations today, his firm is committed to diversity and inclusion, and David is closely involved in advocating for that within the firm as well as more widely.

Over a cup of coffee a couple of days before Manchester Pride, David and I were speaking about what it is to be an ally, and in particular what it is to be an LGBTQI+ ally in these days. This is a matter on which David, along with thousands of people in organisations large and small, has reflected deeply, and together with a group of colleagues he was about to join the Manchester Pride procession to stand with and for inclusion and to identify his firm with that aim. Here are some of them preparing for that day:

Of course we went on to speak of what it means to be an ally, and in particular a LGBTI+ ally, within the Church and the churches. This is something that I touched on in my book “The Table” when I spoke of some criticism I had received for becoming a patron of Liverpool Pride:

The general sense of [this criticism] was that I had made a mistake in conferring ‘legitimacy’ or ‘recognition’ on the LGBTI+ community by associating with the Pride events.

My own perspective was diametrically different from this. As I saw it, it was the LGBTI+ community which had conferred the honour of recognition on me, a representative of so much that had hurt and still hurts its people. Far from wanting to remind me of these millions of hurtful moments, my new friends and colleagues at Pride were unconditional in their acceptance and enthusiastic in their affirmation of a Christian (one of many on the event) who simply wanted to walk with the community and to affirm God’s love for its people. It was by this acceptance and affirmation that the gift of the poor Christ was given to me on that day.

And I responded in repentance for all that I and my community had done to demean and distress LGBTI+ human beings. I was able to speak with and share with and offer help to people on that day and subsequently. In short, through my involvement with Liverpool Pride I experienced life-changing friendship leading to repentance and ministry; the classic pattern of those who meet and sit at the carpenter’s table, as described at length elsewhere in this book.

What does it mean, generally, anywhere, to be an ally?

Surely it means, not that we patronisingly confer legitimacy on a marginalised group, but that we receive the gift of inclusion from those on the edge, and that we ourselves develop and grow.

This is true whether or not we wish to identify with the aims and purposes of a marginalised group. For years the Church has said that it opposes homophobia and stands against the insult and sometimes the violence perpetrated against the LGBTI+ community. It should not be controversial, or uncommon, therefore, for anyone in the church to express support for Pride and though Pride for the wider LGBTI+ community, as for example the excellent message penned by the Bishop of Chichester and sent to the organisers of Brighton Pride:

I regret that such voices are rarer than they might be. I regret that ‘alliance’ is often seen by believers as something to be avoided, as a step on the slippery slope to heresy. If you see it that way, you will keep silence, even if to keep silence is to see injustice flourish. It would surely be better if clarity of belief could be mixed with a public and non-anxious identification with those on the edge, in this as in all aspects of our life.

My coffee with my friend David prompted these thoughts, and he also gave me a resource – one that he uses in his law firm and one that I recommend here for any group wanting to learn to be an ally. It’s a TED talk by Melinda Epler, focussing on workplace inclusion in the US context, but vital for anyone, anywhere, who wants to know what it means to act as an ally, and how it’s so much more than simply passing resolutions vaguely condemning exclusion.

She ends with some small, practical, workplace-related steps – which, small as they are, would transform our discourse if we translated them into our life as a Church and put them into action:

So, what can you do as an ally? Start by doing no harm. It’s our job as allies to know what microaggressions are and to not do them. It’s our job as allies to listen, to learn, to unlearn and to relearn, and to make mistakes and to keep learning. Give me your full attention. Close your laptops, put down your cellphones and pay attention. If somebody is new or the only person in the room like them, or they’re just nervous, this is going to make a huge difference in how they show up.

Don’t interrupt. Underrepresented people are more likely to be interrupted, so just take a step back and listen. Echo and attribute. If I have a great idea, echo my idea and then attribute it to me, and we thrive together. Learn the language I use to describe my identity. Know how to pronounce my name. Know my pronouns — he, she, they. Know the language I use to describe my disability, my ethnicity, my religion. This really matters to people, so if you don’t know, just ask. Listen and learn.

An executive told me recently that after doing allyship on his team, the whole team started to normalize calling themselves out and each other out for interrupting. “I’m so sorry I’m interrupting you right now, carry on.” “Hey, she’s got a great idea, let’s listen.”

Number two, advocate for underrepresented people in small ways. Intervene; you can change the power dynamics in the room. If you see somebody is the only person in the room like them and they are being belittled, they are being interrupted, do something, say something. Invite underrepresented people to speak. And say no to panels without underrepresented speakers. Refer someone for a job and encourage them to take that job and to take new opportunities. And this one’s really important — help normalize allyship. If you’re a person with privilege, it’s easier for you to advocate for allies. So use that privilege to create change.

Three, change someone’s life significantly. So, be there for somebody throughout their career. Mentor or sponsor them, give them opportunities as they grow. Volunteer — volunteer for a STEM program, serving underserved youth. Transform your team to be more diverse and inclusive. And make real commitments to creating change here. Hold yourself and your team accountable for creating change.

And lastly, help advocate for change across your company. When companies teach their people to be allies, diversity and inclusion programs are stronger. You and I can be allies for each other, whether we’re inside or outside of work.

Although I’ve focused on the LGBTQI+ example, since it is one of the sharpest for our church, I want to stand with Melinda in her argument that together, allies can build a coalition of inclusion – what’s sometimes described as an intersectional alliance – to oppose exclusion and the abuse of power anywhere.

It’s not for nothing that the coalition of political opposition to the policies of the present Government has been described as the Rebel Alliance. People with relatively little else in common are prepared to stand together against ways of acting that they all believe are wrong. I’m asking: is there any chance that such a rebel alliance might genuinely flourish in the churches?

Melinda’s talk ends like this. It sounds right to me:

So, I realized recently that I still have lingering shame and fear from that moment in my career when I felt utterly alone, shut out and unsupported. There are millions of people out there, like me, right now, feeling that way. And it doesn’t take much for us to be there for each other. And when we’re there for each other, when we support one another, we thrive together. And when we thrive, we build better teams, better products and better companies. Allyship is powerful. Try it.

As David Walton reflected with me on seeing this article: “Allyship at heart is simply a practical outworking of loving our neighbour.”

Yes, allyship is powerful. Try it.

September 18, 2019
Shhh….It’s Secret!!

by the Revd Canon Rosie Harper, Chaplain to the Bishop of Buckingham and Member of General Synod

‘The vows you are about to take are made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts.’

I get the point. The truth is the truth even when it is well hidden.

If you believe in a personal God who relates to you rather like a human but with super-powers, then this is a bit creepy. A bit like a cosmic stalker. As a child I used to worry about this idea that God was watching me all the time; not just seeing what I was doing (even going to the loo) but knowing my thoughts and my motives. When I was about eight I accidentally broke an elegant large green vase that my father had just given my mother for their wedding anniversary. Money was tight and I knew he’d saved up hard to afford it and she was delighted with the gift. I worked out that the best strategy was to deal with it straight away. ‘Mummy, Daddy, I’ve done something awful and I’m so, so sorry. You are going to hate me.’ ‘Darling , you know we would never hate you.’ I thought that if I went in hard like that they’d imagine something monumental and be relieved that it was only a broken vase. The strategy worked a treat. I overheard them talking later and although they were fed up about the breakage they were so proud of their daughter who had been really contrite and had owned up to her mistake. I felt terrible. A real sense of shame. Not so much because I’d been manipulative but because of the weight of thinking that God knew and was disappointed in me.

What we choose to reveal and what we choose to hide. It’s powerful stuff, and mostly it is driven by fear and shame.

There are good secrets.

That delicious time when only you know you are pregnant! When you are engaged but haven’t told anyone yet. Maybe, I wouldn’t know of course, when you have won the lottery and keep it under your hat. But most good secrets are transitory. You hug your good news for a while and then have great fun sharing it.

There are sensible secrets.

I’m guess that you, like me, think it is wise to keep some stuff about yourself under wraps. I have grown less and less prone to doing that. For example, I made myself a promise that I would try never to preach anything I didn’t believe. I don’t like that script that says ‘if only they knew what I really think.’

Then there are bad secrets.

The most obvious is the abuser who tells their victim ‘this is our special secret’ This is a hugely powerful way of exerting control. For a child there is a toxic mixture of shame and fear that can chase them through the rest of their lives.

Secrets that are imposed are usually abusive, and the bible is not at all keen on such secrets: Mark 4.22 – ‘Everything that is hidden will be made clear and every secret thing will be made known.’

The biblical principle seems to be that openness, transparency and mutual accountability are the way to go.

So why is the Church rife with bad secrets? It operates at a personal level.

Lizzie Lowe had a secret. She should never have had to believe it should be a secret. Sadly such was the Church culture that she believed her secret – that she was gay – was so shameful that it drove her to take her life. Many, many other men and women have kept their sexuality secret, sometimes even from themselves, and it has almost destroyed them.

It also operates at an institutional level in a weirdly inverted way. Churches are one of the very worst places for confidentiality, and the leaky sieve is usually prayer.

In the realm of the hierarchy of the C of E secrecy comes naturally.

We are all waiting for ‘Living in Love and Faith’ – the work is hidden. There are, I believe, copies circulating but not for the plebs. If the Pilling Report process and text had been less secret squirrel we might have been able to challenge the ridiculous reliance on cod-science. Secrecy rarely make things better, but it does make those in the inner circle feel important.

At General Synod we have the opportunity to ask questions. The idea is that we hold our seniors accountable, but the whole process is risible. Almost every answer amounts to ‘I am sorry I can’t tell you that – it’s secret.’ I asked how many Non-Disclosure Agreements the Church has entered into and the answer was exactly that. Sorry Rosie – it’s secret.

It’s a fine demonstration that information is power. It matters because the NDAs mean that victims have to choose between financial recompense and bringing their wrongs into the light so that others can learn from them. The Church likes them because it saves them an expensive court case, the perpetrator because no-one gets to know what they have done and they may even be free to do it again, but the survivor gets given an other secret and of course secrets is often where it all began – they are still being controlled. In most cases NDAs are abusive. Secular society is recognizing this but the Church holds on tightly to its culture of secrets.

There is a parallel biblical strand about darkness and light. The very best thing about flying is leaving a dark rainy airport and rising above the clouds. And I sit by the window and feel the sunshine on my cheek and bathe in the light, and feel nearer to God.

We are called to walk in the light…

September 13, 2019
Does the Bible Really Say…that Creation is Straight?

by the Revd Canon Dr Simon Taylor, Canon Chancellor of Derby Cathedral

Credit where it is due, whoever first coined ‘God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’ has a real gift for slogans and headlines. But not, I fear, for theology.

One of the loudest arguments for the exclusion of same-sex relationships from the Church has been the complementarian position that marriage is by definition male and female. In turn this is based on an understanding of creation in which human beings are made and meant to be male and female.

Creation, in other words, is straight.

Complementarian readings underlie the arguments against equal marriage in official Church documents from a number of churches, and can be found across the traditions of the Church from Roman Catholics to free evangelicals.

But I am far from convinced that this is the right way to be reading Scripture. What I propose to do in this post is to look at some key Biblical texts and then to see if a larger Biblical vision might be offered.

Genesis 1.27-8

The first key text, foundational to complementarian arguments, is Genesis 1.27-28:

“So God created humankind in his image,

in the image of God he created them

male and female he created them.

God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.’”

This is a rich passage, which stands at the root of whole tradition of human rights.

A complementarian reading of this passage attends carefully to the way in which the image of God structures humanity as male and female. Combined with the injunction to procreation, this is then taken to require heterosexual relationships.

There are, however, serious difficulties with this approach:

First, it is in danger of requiring couplings of male and female in order to display the image of God. What then do we have to say for single people?

Second, it takes the command to ‘be fruitful and multiply’ as a command for every couple, rather than for the species as a whole. What then of the childless, the elderly and the infertile?

Third, it loses the way the passage insists that the image of God is seen in women as well as in men. This has not, through the history of humanity and the history of the Church, been something seen as obvious. Sexual relationships have been constituted as expressions of male power, underwritten by a male God. Genesis 1.27-28 begs to differ.

There is an important role for Genesis 1.27-28 in structuring human relationships and society. All human beings are to be seen as reflecting God’s image, across the whole variety of humanity. As a species, humans are to value their children. Valuing males over females is not consistent with the creation of people. To read this passage as asserting that only a male-plus-female partnership is valid is to endanger its power to support human flourishing.

Genesis 2.18-24

At the end of the second creation story in Genesis, God creates woman from the rib of man. The passage ends with the writer’s comment that:

“Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh” (Genesis 2.24).

This text has also been taken to support a complementarian account of human relationships. The ‘one flesh’ that derives from marriage is taken to require a man and a woman.

Again, there are problems with this reading:

First, the ‘one flesh’ that Genesis 2.24 speaks about is an expression of kinship, not of sexual relations. ‘One flesh’ could be polygamous, and often is in the Old Testament. Despite this being the ‘go-to text’ for monogamy, the marriage envisioned is not simply the pairing of a man and a woman.

Second, the order in which the man and woman are created has been taken to imply the subordination of women, 1 Timothy 2.11-15 being a prime example. Yet we have already seen that Genesis 1.27-28 is seeking to deny such subordination.

Third, Genesis 2.24 needs to be read as part of the whole story, which begins at verse 18. To read the final verse in isolation misses the whole point of the story.

In the story of Genesis 2, God creates the animals so that the ‘man’ (adam), the first human person, should not be alone. As the first human names the animals, none is found to be a helper and partner. But there is a real sense that they might have been. Then God creates woman from the flesh of the first human. Again, the human names the creature woman (‘ishah) and names himself man (‘ish).

The force of the story is on the consent of the person, and the delight of the man in the woman. Consent and delight are what structures this story. Gareth Moore writes of “the final bankruptcy of the compulsory heterosexuality interpretation of the story of Adam and Eve. Not only does it misrepresent God as one who imposes his will regardless of human delight, but … it completely undermines the dynamic that leads to the creation of Eve.”[i]

Matthew 19.3-9

Both Genesis 1.27-28 and Genesis 2.24 are brought together by Jesus:

“Have you not read that the one who made them at the beginning ‘made them male and female’ and said, ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’” (Matthew 19.4-5).

The complementarian argument here is that this gives the authority of Jesus to their interpretations of Genesis, and does so clearly in a discussion about marriage. When Jesus speaks of marriage, they argue, he does so in a complementarian model of male and female.

I see nothing in this passage that changes the force of the readings I have offered of the two Genesis passages. Indeed, I would be happy to see Jesus reinforcing the assertion of Genesis 1 that women are fully human, and the assertions of Genesis 2 that consent and joy are at the heart of all human relationships. Nothing that Jesus says in Matthew’s account need be understood as requiring a complementarian account of human beings.

A Broader Biblical Vision

Recently, N. T. Wright has spoken of the Bible as:

“an entire narrative which works with this complementarity so that a male-plus-female marriage is a signpost or a signal about the goodness of the original creation and God’s intention for the eventual new heavens and new earth.”[ii]

Respectfully, I want to disagree with this. I hope the readings above demonstrate the ways in which I disagree with Wright on the way that creation is read as male-plus-female.

It may be worth briefly thinking about Wright’s assertion that “a male-plus-female marriage is a signpost.” The great Biblical vision of marriage and the new creation is of the people of God as a bride (Isaiah 62.4-5; Revelation 19.6-9). Notice here that the entirety of God’s people are described as female, as a bride.

If we read from the Scriptures to the people of God without any further thought or insight, we might find ourselves requiring all God’s people to be female. Rather than arguing about whether women can take leadership roles in the Church, or whether we can have women bishops, we might find we need books and articles explaining why men can be Christians at all. The image of the bride is gendered.

Yet I am not aware of any theologian or interpreter of the Bible that has taken that image as determining the gender of individuals within the people of God. Even if the creation narratives do speak of a complementary relationship between male and female at the heart of creation, it is a quite different theological move to require such a relationship of every individual person or couple within God’s people.

If creation does not require a complementarian view of human relationships; and a better approach to signposting would be helpful; what then of the broad narrative of Scripture?

I want to suggest a broad reading of the story of God and his creation, that is rooted in reconciliation, and which would bring all human relationships into the story as potentially speaking of the love of God for his creation.

Key to this understanding is Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Paul writes:

“But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, so that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God” (Ephesians 2.13-22).

At the heart of God’s purposes is the bringing together of all things and all people, however far off they may once have seemed. The death of Christ brings everyone into one new humanity, putting hostility to death. All are reconciled to God in one body, and no one is a stranger or an alien, but citizens and saints.

The picture here is one of the fullness of God and of creation, with all things reconciled and built together into a place where God can live. There is difference, but it is reconciled, no longer requiring hostility between different groups. And there is a wide range of difference that has been reconciled: male and female, Jew and gentile, married and single, different races and nations, people of different sexualities and different gender identities.

Is this reconciliation easy? No, it is costly and requires working out. But the cost was paid by Christ in his death. The working out starts from there.

The Bible calls us to a bigger and fuller vision of God and his creation. But that vision is not structured by human relationships, but by Christ in whom “the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God” (Ephesians 2.21-22).

Complementarian readings of Scripture are in danger of getting this the wrong way round, which results in structuring Christ around human relationships. To limit the Biblical vision to a simple ‘male-plus-female’ is to limit the creative and reconciling power of God.

Creation is not straight, it is full of difference, all of which is reconciled into one new humanity through Jesus.

References

[i] Gareth Moore OP, A Question of Truth: Christianity and Homosexuality (London and New York: Continuum, 2003), p. 143.

[ii] Matthew Schmitz, ‘N. T. Wright on Gay Marriage: Nature and narrative point to complementarity’, https://www.firstthings.com/blogs/firstthoughts/2014/06/n-t-wrights-argument-against-same-sex-marriage [Accessed 14.7.19.]

About the Author

The Revd Canon Dr Simon Taylor is Canon Chancellor of Derby Cathedral. He is the author of two books, including How to Read the Bible (without switching off your brain) (SPCK, 2015).

He is soon to take up a new role as Director of Ministry Development in the Diocese of Bristol.

July 18, 2019
Does the Bible Really Say…that Baptism Should be Withheld from Some People?

by the Rt Revd David Gillett, Principal of Trinity College, Bristol (1988-1999) and former Bishop of Bolton (1999-2008)

Sadly, there are often stories one hears of the Church excluding people, but this is especially sad when it comes to baptism – the entry door where we welcome people into God’s family.

One baptized gay friend of mine told me how his parish priest had agreed – with great reluctance – that he could be a godparent for his sister’s new baby boy. However, he would not be allowed to stand around the font with the rest of his family and friends – he must stand on his own at the far corner of the church! At about the same time as he told me his experience – in June of last year – the Presbyterian Church in Ireland passed a resolution declaring that same-sex couples could not receive communion nor could their children be baptised.

Thankfully, there is another side to this story of exclusion, and many of us in increasing numbers agree with the response of the Corrymeela community to the position of the Church out of which it grew:

“Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people – whether single or in relationships; with our families; with our friends; with our faith, doubts, experiences and insights —- are a gift of God to our society.

Corrymeela began in the Presbyterian Church in Ireland. We are now joyfully an open ecumenical community with 170 members … these decisions deny and demean those who have already suffered enough at the hands of society and Christianity…

We assert: You are dignified, welcome and safe. Your faith, families and relationships are honoured. We say this not in spite of our own belief in faith and reconciliation but because of it.”

Turning to the Church of England, (which is my main focus in this article) its website strikes a fully welcoming note in reference to baptism. It tells enquirers who are looking for basic information on what the church is about:

“The Church of England welcomes all babies, children and families for christenings – whatever shape that family takes. You do not have to be married or to have been a regular churchgoer – as a parent, you do not even have to have been baptised yourself – though you could be. Everyone is welcome at their local church.”

Among other gestures of open-hearted welcome, this clearly says, ‘Yes’ to gay and lesbian people who are parents. There is something deep in the DNA of Christian faith that impels us to receive and welcome all who come to us – our first instinct is naturally to want to extend the loving welcome of God in Christ. Of course, in the baptism service itself, the godparents or the adult candidates will go on to make a profession of faith but this follows on from the wholehearted and sincere welcome which has first been extended – the kind of welcome that Jesus demonstrated when the disciples were minded to be exclusionary in their approach. Then little children were being brought to him in order that he might lay hands on them and pray. The disciples spoke sternly to those who brought them; but Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” (Matthew 13f)

And, speaking personally I was delighted when a gay friend of mine asked me to become a godparent to his adopted child – he is one of the best dads I know!

This declared pastoral approach in the Church of England (as in other denominations) reflects the outcome of the quick thinking which no doubt Philip had to do when the Ethiopian Eunuch made his request for baptism– ‘Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?’ In this case, as the enquirer was both a eunuch and a Gentile he did not fulfill the usual requirements to which Philip was accustomed. Many would have excluded him from full involvement in the worshiping community. In Philip’s eyes, following Jesus’ example, the Ethiopian’s difference was no bar to full inclusion. (Acts 8.26-40)

In support of this approach, the Church of England’s Canon B22, Of the Baptism of Infants, explains the duty of every parish priest: ‘No minister shall refuse or, save for the purpose of preparing or instructing the parents or guardians or godparents, delay to baptise any infant within his cure that is brought to the church to be baptized …’ Other churches may feel free to make exclusions for LGBT people or parents but ministers in the Church of England are instructed to welcome all to the baptismal font.

However, this welcoming attitude is not reflected in every local Church of England. The website of one says to enquirers: “Again, because the child is to be baptised into the church family, any children baptised need their parents to be regular members. Our policy is not to baptise the children of unmarried parents.”

This is clearly not the approach of most parish churches, but some are still hesitant, unlike Philip, when confronted with a ‘new kind of enquiry.’ Hesitation can so easily lead to rejection.

Happily, as this next story shows, when one priest said NO, the priest in a neighbouring parish was totally positive and welcoming in his response. This is how he recounted the story to me:

‘When I received a call, I could tell that the caller was quite hesitant and nervous. I heard a voice ask if she could have her daughter christened at my church. I said Yes that would be lovely and we’d love to do that. It was then she said, “Is it ok as we are two mums? We went to another church and they were difficult. It’s ok if not.”’

I said we would love to christen your daughter and I look forward to meeting you all soon. The sense of delight when we all met was wonderful. It was sad to hear the rejection they experienced when approaching other churches.

It was a delight when two years later I received another call from the same couple to say they would like to have another christening – even though they’d moved. They wanted to come back because they had felt so loved and had received an amazing welcome. When the church (and therefore to many God) has been felt to say a big No, it’s really wonderful to see the joy of a big Yes – and the beauty of God’s welcome and inclusive love in action. Both services were a real joy to all the family and friends – but also to our congregation too.’

Such stories of welcome and celebration for the children of same sex parents are a clear outworking of the official pastoral and legal position in the Church of England.

However, there are those who wish to exclude LGBTQ+ individuals, families and their children in different ways. For some this may be because they are unclear about how to deal with the relatively new situation of civil partnerships and equal marriage. For instance, a few years ago, a priest in the south of England made the national press when he said that he was unable to cope with the request of a lesbian couple to have their child baptized because there were no appropriate columns in the baptism register for two mothers. He suggested that one should be named ‘mother’, the other one, ‘godmother’ – a suggestion that they naturally found totally unacceptable.

Fortunately, the church lawyers have subsequently made the position quite clear. The Legal Advisory Commission of the General Synod issued their opinion in 2017:

“where persons of the same sex share parental responsibility their names should both be inserted in the same gender specific column, namely Father’s name or Mother’s name.”

If there are growing pains in how to deal with the children of same sex parents – though by now it should be fairly clear what to do in the Church of England – for some this is a more acutely theological issue when one or both within a same sex marriage ask for baptism.

For those of us who accept the inclusivity of marriage this presents no problems but allows us to rejoice with the couple in their new found faith and welcome them fully into membership of the Church. For those, however, who consider such relationships unacceptable, they may well feel constrained to refuse baptism. The legal position in such a case would be for the couple to appeal to the bishop who is likely to suggest that some other priest who is willing should be asked to conduct the baptism.

However, most churches will hopefully continue to see baptism as the sacrament of welcome, mindful of the bishops’ guidelines which state:

“Those same sex couples who choose to marry should be welcomed into the life of the worshiping community and not be subjected to questioning about their lifestyle. Neither they nor any children they care for should be denied access to the sacraments.’ (Pastoral Guidance on Same Sex Marriage 15/02/2014)”

We are clearly not of in the same position as the Presbyterian Church in Ireland which refuses baptism to those in a same sex marriage and to their children. On the other hand it is The United Reform Church, the Episcopal Church in Scotland, and increasingly the Methodist Church in these islands that have been leading the way out of the pastoral confusion and missionary challenges of failing to embrace a fully inclusive and welcoming vision for the whole of humanity.

Meanwhile, the situation in the Church of England is reflected in some words of the Archbishop of Canterbury: “I find myself deeply torn … On the issue of what, in English law, is called equal marriage … I personally am conservative on this. But I am equally convinced that it may be that I am wrong. I think part of Anglican theology is always an assumption that you need to go on listening. Anglican theological methodology never closes things down.” (ACC 2019)

Many of us are frustrated by the Church of England’s ponderously slow and drawn out process of deciding on full equality for LGBTQ+ people. At times it can seem to many that there is a deliberate policy of delay in facilitating progress towards the eventual acceptance of equal marriage. However, in contrast, there is a clear acceptance that baptism is fully inclusive. Meanwhile we are in the ironic situation where baptism, the foundation sacrament within the Church, is open to all whereas lawfully married same sex couples are barred from both a church marriage and the possibility of ordination.

The hope and prayers of an increasing number from all traditions within the Church – be they catholic, reformed, liberal or evangelical, formal or informal – are focused on full equality for LGBTQ+ people in all sacraments and ordinances from baptism through the whole of life – for themselves, their partners and their ministries.

About the Author

The Rt Revd David Gillett, former Bishop of Bolton writes: ‘As a Theologian-Pastor, my views, like many other Christians have developed over time since my M.Phil dissertation of 50 years ago explored approaches to sexuality in the bible. Since then I have been a lecturer at St John’s College, Nottingham and Principal of Trinity College Bristol, interspersed with ministry as youth worker, vicar, peace worker, and bishop. My academic/teaching interests are in the areas of Old Testament, World Religions and Spirituality.’

July 12, 2019