Questions of Conscience (3)
By the Rt Revd Philip North, who will be installed as Bishop of Blackburn on 24 June
In the heart-stoppingly beautiful 21st Chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus asks Peter three times, ‘Do you love me?’
As the Lord speaks, Peter is simultaneously rebuked, forgiven and restored. The night before Jesus’ death, Peter had acted out of fear and prioritised personal safety, conformity and transient popularity over faithfulness to Jesus. Three times he denied Jesus and then wept over his own sin. That sin is now erased as he declares, ‘Yes Lord, you know I love you,’ and so places Jesus back at the centre of his life.
Amongst so much else, this is a story that can help us to understand the power of theological conscience. Political dialogue revolves around opinions, views and policies; transient things that can be adapted according to changing cultural trends and perspectives. Conscience is much deeper than that. It is about placing obedience to revelation ahead of personal popularity, political expedience or cultural conformity.
That means it is in the very nature of conscience to be misunderstood and even mocked and derided, as Peter learned. By definition it makes no sense to those who have not placed their faith in that revelation. It is foolish, even offensive.
And that is why conscience is the lifeblood of the Christian tradition. It is why the apostles and early martyrs preferred grotesque and agonising deaths to apostasy. It is why Athanasius and the opponents of Arius spurned career and popularity and lived with exile and oppression in order to stand by the truth of the Incarnation. It is why Margaret Clitherow, Hugh Latimer and the other martyrs of the Reformation were stoned, burnt, hanged, drawn and quartered. It is why Martin Luther could do no other. All placed their obedience to revealed truth ahead of the easy path of conformity and popularity.
Nor is theological conscience the unique preserve of the conservative. In the tortured debates around sexuality that every single denomination within Christendom is now enduring, there is informed theological conscience on both sides. That is precisely why it is so painfully difficult.
Because conscience is, by its nature, non-negotiable. Yes of course we must explore and probe conscience to ensure that its theological basis is secure and in line with scripture and tradition. Yes of course, we must be ready to probe the boundaries of conscience and push it as far as it will go for the sake of good relationships and the unity of the church. But to force a fellow Christian to break theological conscience is to imperil their soul.
That is the depth and profundity of theological conscience. And the debate around the Living in Love and Faith proposals cannot end well unless we understand that. We may not agree with each other’s convictions. We may indeed find them offensive, threatening or reprehensible. But surely it is the duty of every Christian to protect the consciences of their brothers and sisters in Christ.
Of course this does not resolve the LLF conversation. In fact it makes it rather harder. But it does set some ground rules for the debate.
First, we need to appreciate that those with whom we disagree are not just expressing personal views but are speaking from faith-informed conscience. Allowing for the integrity of a fellow Christian’s conscience is not the same as agreeing with them. But in an increasingly secular world, Christians need to stand as one in defending each other’s rights to hold theological convictions that may be unpopular or misunderstood in the wider sphere. If we cannot do that, then religious freedom itself will be increasingly under threat.
Second, we must at all costs avoid weaponizing a culture that does not understand faith in order to advance a theological cause. For example, the sloppy labelling of those who have conscience objections to doctrinal change as ‘homophobic’ or ‘bigoted’ in order to shame them publicly or frighten them into silence breeds resentment rather than reconciliation.
And third, we need to resolve this within our own structures. For example, for Christians to campaign for the state to use its power to overrule the consciences of fellow Christians by forcing doctrinal change upon the Church would be to set a profoundly dangerous precedent. It would signal to the world that conviction rooted in faith no longer matters. It would be akin to Peter denying the Lord.
Peter broke conscience, but saw his error and was restored in love to the Lord’s company. Perhaps for us also, a proper appreciation of the nature of conscience will help us to find a deeper restoration in the Lord Jesus and a richer assurance of his love for his wounded church.
Any thoughts?