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Year: 2025

  • A Response to “The Nature of Doctrine and the Living God: a Report of the Faith and Order Commission” (GS Misc 1429)

    Fr Thomas Sharp is a priest theologian based in the South East of England and is also Provincial Secretary of the Society of Catholic Priests

    We can now see the legal advice and theological briefing which the House of Bishops was given before making their October decisions on Living in Love and Faith (LLF). One of these, the report of the Faith and Order Commission entitled The Nature of Doctrine and the Living God (GS Misc 1429), surveys Anglican understandings of the development of doctrine and the role theology has to play in the life of the Church. Putting it succinctly, the report makes it pretty clear that support for the Prayers of Love and Faith (not even for equal marriage) would probably constitute a “change” of doctrine which would also constitute an unacceptable change in our understanding of what scripture is, who God is, and who we are as created beings.

    Church reports are never as satisfying in theological terms as a good academic paper or book. They have different purposes and different standards for the arguments they make. And we also do not know which members of the Faith and Order Commission really contributed to it, and how, and to what extent its membership would agree with all the arguments made. I suspect that they don’t all feel excellent about this report. But we do not know any of this any more than we know whether any of the bishops have dissented from recent decisions and why. So we are left to evaluate the Report on its own terms, and to ask generous questions of those who may or may not have written the arguments it makes.

    It must be said from the outset that it is a strange document. It does have a few bloopers, as all reports do. The comment in §4 of the extended summary that ‘As the greatest of the medieval scholastics, Aquinas is representative of the thinking of the church catholic’ is certainly entertaining. It presents Aquinas’ thought as settled and established, ignoring the fact that the turmoil in the Roman Catholic church over the past 200 years has largely been caused by fundamental disagreement about what Thomas Aquinas meant, and whether the Aquinas we are talking about is his direct writings or the tens of generations of his interpreters who came after.

    As a scholar of catholic theology, a blooper like this does make my eyes roll involuntarily. But more problematically, it represents an attempt in this Report to present doctrine as something generally static, generally serene, a quiet lake in which even its dynamism is limited to the occasional wave breaking on the shoreline of its boundaries.

    But this is theological and historical make-believe. The theology of Paul was a seismic shock to the world. The emergence of the urban episcopate had monks and citizens rioting in the streets of the Mediterranean. The theology of Augustine was a genuine shock to the Church. Even the theology of Thomas Aquinas, with his startling new Aristotelian approach, was shocking and new, and was not and is not uncritically accepted in the church catholic.

    The doctrine of the church has never been worked out calmly and quietly. That isn’t how people work, especially not when we believe things dearly and love fervently the God about whom we are trying to speak and teach. Any portrayal of doctrine as settled and serene is fantasy. Well argued fantasy. But fantasy nevertheless.

    Section III of the report attempts to construct an Anglican sense of what doctrine is and where its limits are. It does this with a very eminent group of white theologians from the UK and North America, 22% of which are women. But it seems to pretend that the rest of the Anglican Communion and humanity has nothing to offer. They are or were all (John Henry Newman probably aside) either straight or in heterosexual marriages. Apparently nobody who would be directly affected by the Prayers of Love and Faith has ever thought about doctrine. Certainly never in the global south. There are people, even LGBTQIA+ people, South of the equator and East of Suffolk.

    In section III a degree of complexity is dealt with. But this is jettisoned in its summary synthesis §139-146 where a seductively unclear conclusion is presented:

    The nature of doctrine might be summarised as true knowledge about God that is communally authorised by warrant in the Holy Scriptures and is, therefore, communally regulative. (§146)

    What does “Communally Regulative” actually mean? Does it have a conservative meaning of establishing the bare minimum of precepts which a person must accept in order to be confident of their salvation, in the sense of Article VI of the Articles of Religion? Or does it have a broader, more liberal application, in the sense that ‘those things a Christian is required to know, believe, and observe are available to all in their reading of Scripture’ (§172) and that whatever lies outside this is not to be permitted. The Report acknowledges that the latter approach ‘is not expressed in the Church of England’s historical formularies per se’ (fn. 154).

    The former, more conservative approach, might fit better the doctrine of the scriptures found in the Book of Common Prayer and the historic formularies of the Church of England. English Anglicanism, at least in its formularies, is conservative about what it considers to be a “first order” issue. If anything ever mentioned in scripture becomes a “first order” issue, simply by virtue of the fact that it is mentioned in scripture, doctrine will simply cease to function as a useful means by which the Church teaches God’s people what their salvation is, and where their hope should be. Just because we feel very strongly about something at the moment, on either side, does not make it a first order issue.

    The knots a more liberal and expansive approach to what is a “first order” issue can get us into are clear in §171 of the conclusion. To pull at one thread of the great edifice of “first order” doctrine which has been built up seems to threaten to unravel the whole.

    For many, the doctrine of marriage as it has been articulated historically foregrounds a clearly defined set of biblical texts. Furthermore, those advancing that argument maintain those texts are decisive in their teaching that only relationship between one man and one woman may be offered a form of divine authorisation in a marriage service, blessing, or prayer. To argue otherwise – as those in support of the PLF do – appears to constitute a simultaneous challenge to the doctrine of marriage, the doctrines that marriage refers to (such as creation and redemption), and also the doctrine of Scripture. (§171)

    The illusion of a near eternally settled body of doctrine which peacefully and unchangeably has taught and guided God’s people is both a historical fantasy, and also dangerous, as our theology becomes so simply overconnected that everything is raised to being a “first order” issue. Such theology is not strong. It is brittle. It is magisterial. It is expansive, regulatory and tends towards the authoritarian. It moves us ever closer to the next divisive issue and the next schism. It makes “windows into men’s souls” beyond what is necessary to assure them of their salvation. In that sense, it is deeply un-anglican.

  • Where Does the House of Bishops Currently Stand on the Use of Prayers of Love and Faith? Some Reflections

    by Peter Collier KC, retired Senior Circuit Judge and former Vicar-General of the Province of York

     

    On 15 November 2023, General Synod passed a motion on Living in Love and Faith which acknowledged that we are in a period of uncertainty but, among other requests, asked “the House to consider whether some standalone services for same-sex couples could be made available for use, possibly on a trial basis, on the timescale envisaged by the motion passed by the Synod in February 2023”.

    Such a trial period would result in an expectation that if, at the end of it, there was a wish to continue the use of the Prayers, then that would be put through a Canon B2 process.

    After much longer than people had hoped for, the House of Bishops has now reached a provisional decision, which they anticipate confirming in December. That decision is that, following advice from the Church of England’s Legal Office and from the Faith and Order Commission (FAOC), such services – now described as ‘bespoke services’ – “would require maximum communal authorisation through the Canon B2 process of approval”.

    The recent legal advice (dated September 2025) which has now been published does not differ materially from what previous documents told us was the essence of the legal advice received on earlier dates. Annex F to GS 2328 had said that authorisation through Canon B2 would provide an automatic defence to any legal case brought against clergy for using the prayers. The advice at that time was that, provided the House, exercising its legally and theologically informed judgement, formed the view that the proposed prayers and other material met the requirements as to doctrine that are set out in Canon B5, then they could properly be commended. That was and presumably still is the case, as the use of the prayers in regularly scheduled services remains commended for use under Canon B5.

    The role of context

    What is of course new is the advice from FAOC. In short, it addresses the issue of the extent to which context and symbolic action communicate what the church believes. FAOC says that when used publicly, and especially when used in bespoke or occasional services, the Prayers may be seen to communicate an ecclesial endorsement of a couple’s relationship as a whole, including its sexual dimension. It says, some would say argues(!), that in public rituals meaning is read as much from what is seen as from what is said. Also, that actions, gestures, and vesture generate strong signals for a variety of audiences looking on. It says that, while explanatory prefaces may help, people will remember the enactment more than the caveat. In conclusion, FAOC suggest that symbolic actions, such as an exchange of rings, will communicate more than the church’s doctrine of marriage will allow.

    Notwithstanding that all of that also applies to such symbolic activity in regularly scheduled services – which are to be allowed to continue – the House has provisionally concluded that performance of the same symbolic activity in a standalone service should not take place until authorised by Synod through a B2 process.

    The Church of England and civil weddings

    Of course this is not the first time that the Church of England has addressed questions around marriage services. In 1836, the Marriage Act challenged the practice of all weddings being conducted only through the Church of England, and introduced what we now call ‘civil weddings’. Weddings conducted in registered buildings other than churches, in the presence of a registrar and two witnesses, were lawful. This was the first time that Parliament provided for people to marry other than through the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England.

    The Church was not happy and, in the debate on the bill in the House of Lords, the then-Bishop of Exeter, Henry Phillpotts, said that it was “a disgrace to British legislation. [It] is pretended to be called for to prevent clandestine marriages, but I think it will greatly facilitate such proceedings. Not solemnized by the church of England, may be celebrated without entering into a consecrated building, may be contracted by anybody, and will be equally valid, whether it takes place in the house of God, or in the house of a registering clerk, one of the lowest functionaries of the state. The parties may take one another for better and for worse, without calling God to witness their plighted troth. No blessing sought; no solemn vows of mutual fidelity; no religious solemnity whatever …”. Clearly in his mind this fell far short of ‘Holy Matrimony’ as per the Book of Common Prayer.

    Various other developments culminated with the use of a religious service in a register office being prohibited by s.12 of the Marriage and Registration Act 1856. So, more by accident than design, we reached the place where there was a very clear distinction between religious and secular marriages.

    Divorce and marriage

    However, a much more fundamental issue arising from the different views about marriage held by state and church was that of remarriage after divorce. In 1857, control over divorce passed from the church courts – which had exercised complete control over marriage and divorce since the Middle Ages – to the newly-created Court for Divorce and Matrimonial Causes. Until then, divorce was rare and expensive, requiring in almost all cases an Act of Parliament to bring it about. The grant of divorces by the courts was slowly liberalised over the years, culminating in 1969 with the “irretrievable breakdown of a marriage” being the sole ground for divorce.

    Throughout this period, the Church of England remained adamant that marriage was for life and that any remarriage during the former partner’s lifetime amounted to adultery. In 1957, the church not only banned the use of the “solemnisation of holy matrimony” for the remarriage of divorcees but also barred the provision of any public service to mark a couple’s civil marriage when one of them was divorced.

    Some clergy, notwithstanding that official position, did hold private services of prayer and dedication for such couples either in their home or, sometimes, in a church. The Lichfield Report (1978) reviewed the position, along with the pros and cons of holding a service of prayer and dedication for those who had gone through such further marriages. However, it concluded that there was a risk of confusion between such a service and a marriage service. It argued that, whatever explanations were given, it was likely that some taking part would be unaware of the distinction, particularly if the traditional ceremonial elements such as a bride wearing white, the ringing of bells and the like “would convey a powerful misleading message which the words of the service would be unable to correct”. That argument will sound very familiar to anyone who has read the recent FAOC advice.

    However, within three years of the Lichfield Report being issued, in July 1981, Synod voted overwhelmingly for a motion that “there are circumstances in which a divorced person may be married in church during the lifetime of a former spouse”. But what were those circumstances? Such was the division on this issue across the country, that it was very difficult to find a way forward. At the root of the disagreement was the question as to whether this was a matter touching on the doctrine of marriage. That question remained unresolved when, in 1985, the then House of Bishops commended under Canon B4 a ‘Service of Prayer and Dedication After A Civil Marriage’.  This remains a commended service and is still in use today, particularly by some clergy who feel in all conscience that they are unable to agree to a remarriage in church according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England.

    The Church of England and the Civil Partnership Act

    The next occasion when changes in the civil law led to the Church having to address matters that touched on its understanding of marriage was when the Civil Partnership Act 2004 came into force. How should the Church respond when those who had entered into a Civil Partnership asked for prayers or for a blessing on their new status?

    On the 25 July 2005 the House of Bishops provided a Pastoral Statement on Civil Partnerships that said that clergy should not provide a service of blessing for those who have entered into a civil partnership but, if approached by people, they should “respond pastorally and sensitively in the light of the circumstances of each case”.

    Nigel Seed KC, then the Chancellor of the Diocese of London, prepared an advice in 2008 for the clergy of that diocese about what to do if asked to conduct services of blessing for those in civil partnerships. Having considered parallels with the ‘Service of Prayer and Dedication After A Civil Marriage’, and noting that “interestingly for a service that is not ‘a service of blessing’, it does include a blessing of the two individuals, but not of their union”, he concludes by saying:

    Thus the position is clear. Unless and until one of the relevant authorities listed in Canon B5.2 provides a form of service, beneficed clergy (or other clergy authorised by them) may use a form of service they consider suitable in respect of a civil partnership providing that service does not amount to a ‘service of blessing’ and is reverent and seemly and is not contrary to, nor indicative of any departure from, the doctrine of the Church of England in any essential matter.

    It would seem to be commonplace that such services are now in regular use across the country.

    Pastoral responses to same- sex marriage

    So where does all that leave us now that we are facing another challenge presented to us by Parliamentary intervention into marriage? Once more it fell to the Bishop of Exeter, in this case Michael Langrish, to express the Church’s concern when the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act 2013 was making its way through the House of Lords. He said that if the bill was passed:

    A basic understanding of marriage, in law, will have irrevocably changed, and with one reality now bearing two different labels; or we will have legislated into being two very different realities, but confusingly bearing the same name.

    One of the points about a civil partnership is that it is very much not a marriage. A same-sex marriage is also very much not a marriage in the eyes of the church. So, is there any good reason why a pastoral and sensitive response can be made to those who have entered a civil partnership, but not to those who have entered a same-sex marriage?

    The pattern would seem to be well established – we begin with the Service of Prayer and Dedication where the couple but not the union are blessed, we follow that with the pastoral and sensitive prayers for those who have entered a civil partnership which might equally bless them but not their union, and then we come to those who have entered a same-sex relationship where again we pray for and bless them but not their civil union. Although not spelled out in that way, it is my understanding that the many years of work that went into producing the resource section of the Prayers of Love and Faith (PLF) were intended to produce exactly that – a recognition and blessing of the positive goods seen in a relationship, without any acknowledgement of that relationship being anywhere close to what the church currently understands to be a marriage in the sight of God. Such a marriage, when entered into according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England, necessarily can only take place between a man and a woman.

    It was that understanding that was set out in GS 2289 when the House stated its intention of commending those resources for use by those who wished to use them, but reserving always the right of any cleric to decline to do so on grounds of doctrinal conscience, as was the case in 1985.

    On the basis of all the above, it is clearly in order for any cleric who wishes to do so, to use the commended PLF resources in any regularly scheduled service. Although the House has in its guidance so far said that they should not be used other than in regularly scheduled services, I find it difficult to understand why that should be the case. I take on board what FAOC has said about symbolism, but note that the same was said in the Lichfield report in 1978, and that all the symbolic matters that concern FAOC may be just as much present in a regularly scheduled service as in a standalone service. And it is to be noted that the Introduction to the Prayers at pages 3 and 4 is very clear about what is and what is not being offered through using these resources.

    It also seems to me that on the same basis that Chancellor Seed considered that, when no other provision had been made but some sort of service was required, then it is within the discretion of the minister to provide a service that is not contrary to or indicative of departure from the doctrine of the Church of England. It is very difficult to see how what is apparently not so indicative in a regular service should become so simply because the service is occasional.

    The threat of legal proceedings?

    Throughout the discussion of these matters, and obviously something that has weighed heavily with the House, is the possibility of legal proceedings being taken against a cleric who uses prayers that have not had full Canon B2 approval. But I question whether the House has really looked at the nature and detail of those potential proceedings and therefore at the reality of the threat they are thought to pose.

    Any complaint would clearly be about doctrine – the whole ground of any such disciplinary complaint would be that what had happened was contrary to the doctrine of the Church. As such it could not proceed under the Clergy Discipline Measure 2003, as section 7(2) of that Measure provides that “proceedings in relation to matters involving doctrine, ritual or ceremonial shall continue to be conducted in accordance with the 1963 Measure”. That is the Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction Measure 1963 (EJM). Its proceedings are complex to say the least. It was their complexity, cost and consequent rare use that led to the passing of the Clergy Discipline Measure 2003.

    First, under the EJM there are restrictions on those who can commence proceedings. Under section 19 proceedings can only be commenced (1) by a person authorised by the Diocesan Bishop to bring a complaint; (2) by six persons aged 18 or over whose names are on the electoral roll of the parish the incumbent or stipendiary curate who they seek to complain about; (3) in the case of the stipendiary curate by their incumbent. I would have thought it unlikely that a cleric whose parishioners were unsupportive is likely to offer such prayers. There is much in the guidance about discussing matters and getting the approval of the PCC for their use. Also, the complainants would have a lengthy and potentially expensive path ahead of them. As for the Bishop bringing a complaint, I think any Bishop would have to think long and hard before launching one, as may become clear as we consider the process.       

    Under section 39, once the complaint has been brought to the Bishop’s attention and they have considered it, they must give the accused and the complainant the opportunity of a private interview. Having held that interview or interviews the Bishop may decide to take no further steps in the matter in which case it comes to an end, or may decide to refer it for inquiry.

    If the bishop has referred the complaint for inquiry, the inquiry is carried out by a Committee of Convocation in accordance with section 42. The committee consists in the case of an accused priest or deacon of (i) one member of the Upper House of the Convocation of the relevant province appointed by the archbishop; (ii) two members of the Lower House of that Convocation appointed by the prolocutor of that House; and (iii) two chancellors of dioceses in that province, appointed by the Dean of the Arches and Auditor. That committee inquires into the complaint to decide whether there is a case to answer in respect of which the accused should be put on trial. Both sides may lay evidence before the committee in affidavits; the committee might also require any deponent to an affidavit to attend and answer questions on oath. The committee decides if there is a case to answer and, if so, they spell out what the offence is.

    But that is not an end of the matter because they go on to consider whether the offence is too trivial to warrant further proceedings; or that it was committed under extenuating circumstances; or that further proceedings would not be in the interests of the Church of England; and in any of those cases they would then dismiss the complaint. Also, they may decide there is no case to answer. Only if they decide there is a case to answer and that they are not dismissing it for any of the reasons set out above can they send it for trial before the Court of Ecclesiastical Causes Reserved.      

    This Court consists of five members: two Court of Appeal judges (currently Smales and Lindblom LJJ) and three Diocesan Bishops (currently Chelmsford, Chichester, and Gloucester) They are assisted by between three and five persons selected from of a panel of specialist theologians and liturgists. Proceedings follow the pattern of a criminal trial with the criminal rules of evidence. Any decision is decided by a majority.

    If at the conclusion of the proceedings the accused is found guilty of the offence charged, then they are liable to be censured in accordance with section 49. However, under section 49(3), unless the accused has been admonished on a previous occasion in respect of another offence of the same or substantially the same nature, then no censure more severe than a ‘monition’ can be imposed. A monition is “an order to do or refrain from doing a specified act”, which effectively would amount to an order not to do it again. There is therefore no risk of deprivation inhibition or suspension for a first offence.

    It is all that complexity coupled with the lack of teeth in any outcome for a first offence that causes me to think that it would be very unlikely that any bishop would (a) authorise proceedings in the first place, or (b) want to send to an inquiry any case that had been launched by anybody else. Equally, I think that any Committee of Convocation would be very tempted to use one of their three options to dismiss rather than send the case to a hearing. Given the limited penalty, for a first offence which this would inevitably be, what would be the benefit of going to a hearing? Even if any of the parties or the Bishop thought that this might resolve an important doctrinal issue, there would be no guarantee of the outcome, and so I would guess little appetite to take the risk.

    In all the circumstances, it does seem to me that the threat of litigation is vastly overstated in the papers that have been produced so far.

    So where do we go from here?

    The resource material in the PLF is available as commended material for use when praying with a same sex couple in regularly scheduled services and that position is likely to remain after the House reaches final decisions in December.

    Even if they were to withdraw that commendation, it would be open to any priest relying on Canon B 5.2 to use a form of service considered suitable by them to provide a service of thanksgiving and prayer for a couple who approached them asking for such. It seems to me that it would be very difficult to criticise what would surely be seen as a pastoral and sensitive approach. In the preliminary conversations with the couple, I cannot imagine that the priest would not explain that there were limits to what could be offered because the Church of England for the time being has a doctrine of marriage which does not permit it to do any more, given that they are a same sex couple. I cannot imagine that would be any surprise to the couple, who in agreeing to the service offered, would be acknowledging that they understood that that was the Church’s doctrine.

    I can also see no reason why in any announcements about the service, either in advance or at the time, something could not be said that effectively apologised that no more could be offered whilst the current doctrinal position about same sex marriage remains in place. This would overcome the anxiety of FAOC that simply saying what positively is on offer may lead people to conclude that the Church has a doctrinal position other than it has. I can of course understand that people may not want to say anything that detracts from positive statements in the service itself but it would, so far as I can see, provide a complete answer to that significant concern of FAOC.

    And we can look back to those same concerns being expressed about the remarriage issues in the 1980s and note that there has been no lessening of an understanding of what the Church’s doctrine of marriage says. People still believe that the couple are committing to a life together till death does them part, and not committing to have a go at it for as long as they can, which has always seemed to me to be what lawyers refer to as ‘special pleading’.

    But, assuming that the December position of the House follows on from what was said in October, what of those who are not able to accommodate the prayers into their regular pattern of services? It seems to me that the arguments I have just advanced in relation to relying on Canon B 5.2 apply equally in those circumstances.

    What if a diocesan bishop issues an ad clerum purporting to forbid clergy using those prayers in their diocese? The oath of canonical obedience is to “pay true and canonical obedience to the Lord Bishop … and his successors in all things lawful and honest”. On the face of it there is a strong argument for saying that the priest is properly applying canon law and cannot be forbidden from so doing. Canonical obedience is generally understood as obeying such instructions as are given within the law of the church, and the law expressed in Canon B5 allows a priest to use such forms of service as are considered suitable by them for the occasion.

    But it should be noted that Canon B 5.4 provides that “If any question is raised concerning the observance of the provisions of this Canon it may be referred to the Bishop in order that he may give such pastoral guidance, advice or directions as he may think fit,  but such reference shall be without prejudice to the matter in question being made the subject matter of proceedings under the Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction Measure 1963.” The question here is whether an individual diocesan Bishop, in all the circumstances outlined above, is really able to say that the use of such prayers is either contrary to or indicative of a departure from the doctrine of the Church of England in an essential matter. Ultimately of course if such a direction were given and not followed it could be the subject of a complaint under the 1963 Measure, which would proceed as set out above to an outcome which, at the moment, may seem very uncertain for the Bishop.

    Finally, it must follow from all that I have said above that the House needs to give further thought to the matters that I have set out before coming to any final decisions. Careful consideration needs to be given to the long history of the relationship between church and state in relation to the state’s development of marriage and how the church has responded at different times. It needs to be acknowledged that the church has always been concerned that any adaptation of its practices to accommodate what is happening in the outside world may be seen as a threat to its understanding and doctrine of marriage.

    However, accommodations have always been made, and the doctrine has survived. There may be a lot of pressure both inside and outside the church to change the doctrine, but there is no doubt what that doctrine is. They should also not forget that some provinces have already changed their doctrine of marriage, and many other provinces are currently struggling over these issues, even as we are. Historically, the House has led the way in providing sensitive and pastoral accommodation in such changing times.  My question to them is whether they have the courage to do so again?

  • Why Progressive Christians Must Reclaim the Case for Church – Or Face the Consequences

    by Simon Cross, a minister in the United Reformed Church, a writer, and the chair of the Progressive Christianity Network

    [reprinted with permission from http://simonjcross.substack.com/]

    Progressive Christianity has done much to reframe theology – challenging exclusion, reimagining scripture, and putting justice issues at the centre of our worship. But in the enthusiasm to move away from conservatism, we’ve often neglected to reconstruct a compelling case for why church still matters.

    The consequences are striking. Churches that champion progressive theology are shrinking, not because their message lacks depth, but because their communal purpose is unclear. This has various knock-on effects: visible Christianity becomes limited to its more conservative expressions, new leaders are not nurtured, people are cut adrift from supportive communities.

    For centuries now, we’ve critiqued doctrine, questioned hierarchy, and sought to dismantle harmful traditions. But we’ve not always articulated what church is for. Why gather? Why commit? Why return week after week to a community that is imperfect, slow-moving, and sometimes exhausting?

    The hard truth is that if we don’t make the case for church, others will. And often, they’ll make it in ways that reinforce conformity, control, or nostalgia. If we, as progressive Christians, believe in a gospel of liberation, then we must also believe in the power of, and need for communities which embody that liberation – not just in theory, but in practice.

    Church as a School of Compassion

    Church, through a progressive lens, is not just a place to hear sermons, sing hymns or mumble prayers. It’s a dynamic, open space where we learn, together, to be compassionate. Not in abstract terms, but in the messy, embodied reality of shared life. It’s a place where we learn to sit with grief that isn’t ours. We learn to celebrate joy that doesn’t benefit us. We learn what it means to forgive, and to listen.

    This vision of church is profoundly counter-cultural. While contemporary culture prizes individualism and efficiency, wealth and success, church offers a counter-formative rhythm. It slows us down. It asks us to notice. It invites us into relationships that aren’t transactional – or at least aren’t as transactional. Over time, it shapes us into people who can look beyond ourselves.

    Church as a Place of Ritual

    Progressive Christians often shy away from ritual, fearing it will become empty or oppressive. But in my own life, and my own experience of ministry, I have come to recognise that rituals are not the enemy. They are, in some ways, the scaffolding of meaning. (Don’t believe me? Read Ritual by Dimitris Xygalatas).

    In church, we enact rituals of restoration and renewal: communion being the most obvious one. Moments when we stop – recentre, renew. We also enact rituals of resistance – the most notable of which is baptism. In my tradition these two rituals are called ‘sacraments’ – for good reason.

    These rituals remind us who we are and who we’re becoming. They connect us to generations before us and to movements beyond us. They give shape to our longings and language to our hope.

    Church as a Community of Resistance

    Sometimes when I go into a church I find, in effect, a living history museum. A place where a group find comfort. But if church is only a place of comfort, it will not survive.

    At its best, church becomes a community of resistance. A place where we can come together, partly for comfort perhaps, but also to find a way to fight against injustice, against despair, against isolation. The earliest Christians gathered for this reason – they shared resources, they dismantled hierarchies, they cared for each other.

    Progressive churches have the theological tools to be communities of resistance. We speak of inclusion, of equity, of ecological care. But we must also embody these values in our structures, our budgets, our liturgies, and our relationships. Resistance is not just what we preach – it’s how we live together.

    Making the Case

    So how do we make the case for church?

    Perhaps we start by telling the truth, to ourselves and to one another: church is hard. It’s slow. It’s full of people who disappoint us. But it’s also one of the few places where we commit to one another not because we agree with each other (we don’t), but because we belong.

    Then maybe we tell stories – stories of meals shared, of burdens carried, of prayers whispered in hospital rooms. We name the ways that church has saved us by being present to us.

    We invite people not to consume church, but to co-create it. To bring their gifts, their questions, their wounds. To help shape a community that reflects the gospel we believe in.

    And we remind ourselves that church is not a building or a brand. It’s a practice. A discipline. A way of being in the world that says: we are not alone, and we are not powerless.

    Mostly, though, we simply need to understand the case for church in ourselves – we need to internalise it. We need to recognise that ‘this’ is why its worth being part of.

    A Progressive Future

    If progressive Christianity is to thrive, it must reclaim church. It must cultivate it, and tend to it. We must actively make the case for gathering together, and we must ensure our spaces are such that genuine discipleship can happen in them. We can’t really afford to just keep going through the motions.

    Church can be a place where justice is not just preached, but practised. Where compassion is not just felt, but formed. Where resistance is not just imagined, but enacted. We all know it – just as we know it can be the opposite. We need to make the case for church.

  • Beyond Threats: Changing the Narrative after Living in Love and Faith

    by Charlie Bell, Fellow in Public Theology and Medicine at Girton College, Cambridge, Associate Vicar of St John the Divine, Kennington, in the Diocese of Southwark, and member of the LLF Vocations and Ministry Working Group

    When I was at my first Diocesan Synod, many years ago, just after the House of Bishops had issued their Valentine’s Day message that set in stone the current mess in relation to clergy being forbidden to marry their same-sex or gender partners, a cleric turned to me and said words that have stuck with me ever since: ‘you need to have a cooler head and a warmer heart’. These words have returned to me on a number of occasions during the Living in Love and Faith (LLF) fiasco, echoed by various ‘supportive’ or less supportive bishops or others involved in the process – often people who could return to their own husbands or wives at the end of the day, whilst asking people like me to ‘be patient’.

    They appeared in the back of my mind again last week when witnessing the total corporate failure of the House of Bishops to even pay lip service to their promise to ‘lament and repent of the failure of the Church to be welcoming to LGBTQI+ people and the harm that LGBTQI+ people have experienced and continue to experience in the life of the Church’. It was hard – it is hard – to see this as anything other than a total betrayal. Like many others, I felt disappointment, I felt grief. I also felt anger, frustration and the deep impotence of watching my life being decided upon by others. I felt fury at the bully-boy tactics of the Alliance. I felt – frankly – disgusted with the apparent refusal to take all of this on, by those who have claimed to support us throughout. And I was tempted to despair.

    It is hard to know where to start with the inadequacy of what happened, and I’ve taken a bit of time before penning this article to hear a few different perspectives. A statement was put out in the name of the House of Bishops – rushed, presumably, in light of yet another anticipated leak in this depressing process – which failed even to mention LGBTQIA people (I wonder whether this was even seen, let alone signed off, by the House?). In this statement, there was a clear narrative – that LGBTQIA people were, once again, to be the acceptable sacrifice in the name of some vague notion of church ‘unity-through-silence-and-stasis’ (a ‘unity’ which was shown to be a mirage just a few hours later, as GAFCON launched their most recent preposterous salvo). Here was the triumph of pragmatism and politics over people – process over progress – and all in the face of clear decisions of the General Synod (decisions which have been totally ignored throughout the process).

    The bishops didn’t help themselves in the ensuing days, not least through the double-speak we have sadly become so used to hearing. We have seen this endlessly in Synod motions – where ‘consider’ or ‘potential’ have become weasel words to allow something to be passed and then thrown on to the ‘too difficult’ pile at will. In radio performances, the bishops provided disingenuous accounts, full of handwringing and ‘well actually’ commentary which once again failed to take the seriousness of the failure into account, and which might make LGBTQIA people feel just a little gaslighted. The reality of putting something through a two-thirds majority process – that it will fail, given the unrepresentative nature of the General Synod – has never quite been named, and similarly, there is no commitment to actually beginning Synodal processes on clergy marriage.

    Abysmal ‘pastoral letters’ were penned, including one surprisingly weak example which would fail the ‘pastoral exercise’ at any Bishop’s Advisory Panel for potential ordinands. And to date, there has been – once again – a general recourse to silence amongst the House, including amongst the ‘inclusive’ bishops. Silence – just like inaction – is not value-neutral. For our chief pastors, it appears the pastoral urge is worryingly absent. Or, perhaps, fear really has taken over the institution.

    What has become clear from several conversations that I have had – and sight of the legal advice and theological advice – is that the narrative that the legal advice changed is absolute nonsense. It is certainly true that the legal advice suggested that the bishops might be at risk of legal challenge, but we’ve known this all along, not least from February 2024’s GS 2346 (the optimistically-named Living in Love, Faith, and Reconciliation). Part of the role of being a leader is to shoulder that kind of risk. The theological advice on the PLF also made clear that there remain contested areas here, much as there are over clergy entering marriages to people of the same sex or gender. But nothing has substantively changed. ‘We need more theology’ was not, in the end, the deciding factor, and nor was the fabled ‘legal advice’.

    Whilst we’re on that point, might we be a little clearer with language? We have heard time after time that one of the questions to be addressed is whether clergy can enter such marriages, and the need for separate structures if that is to be allowed, but that is not the actual question here. There are already clergy in such marriages – I’m one of them. We walk amongst you. We celebrate the sacraments and preach the word of God freely. I can – and often do – cover parishes all over the diocese, and more widely. But what I can’t do is be appointed to a new post – and those waiting for ordination cannot be ordained. The whole situation is ridiculous – it’s OK for me to share cure of souls in my parish and preside in another but not share cure of souls there and preside in mine. It is hard to follow an argument that suggests that I can continue to be made use of, whilst to permit others would be to break canon law and would require some grand structural change.

    The demands for structural change, of course, have been one of the key issues underlying this whole LLF process – in fact, LLF has become less about LGTBQIA people and more about keeping the purveyors of threats within the Church of England. A narrative has developed, bought – it appears – hook, line, and sinker by far too many within the House of Bishops, that ‘if you do X, we need Y’. If you have standalone services (whatever that means), we need special bishops. If you have clergy marriage, we need our own province. And so on. Few have been willing to stand up to this and say, ‘no, you don’t’ – instead, the game has been played according to those rules, and so here we are. The bishops were unwilling to ‘do violence to the ecclesiology’ of the Church of England, so LGBTQIA people can, essentially, get stuffed. It’s understandable from a purely pragmatic point of view, but it is utterly theologically bankrupt.

    I have some sympathy for the refusal to give into this kind of bullying, and it has been fascinating to see the rather muted response of the small but synodically overrepresented and extremely wealthy threat-makers and money-withdrawers when they realised their grand plan to create a purity cult, a church-within-a-church, has failed. Yet beyond the apparent unwillingness to challenge the Alliance narrative, bishops have also spoken about feeling cornered – managed to within an inch of their lives – by being presented with faits accomplis at recent meetings, with no room left for manoeuvre. It’s this, or it’s that, they were told. So, whether or not it was their intention, looking in from the outside, it certainly looks like they have run scared of the Alliance, given into threats, and left us out in the cold. In doing so, all the hope of February 2023 has fallen away, motions and the associated clear will of General Synod have been discarded, and we have a few measly prayers which many of us were doing already. No bespoke services. No change to the absurd rules on clergy marriage. Nothing. Nada. Nil.

    As I said at the start, I am as angry and as dejected as the next person. But I am also not willing to accept defeat here. So, whilst it is easy to get caught up in the frustration and the fury, I want to think instead of where we go from here.

    It is clearly the case that the bishops decided it was not worth pressing ahead with standalone services, but why? Is this the result of threats of legal action? Bishops need to be clear in their own minds why they voted the way they did, and just as clear as to how they will stop this mess happening again. How are they going to enable all the things that they have promised through Synod motions – some little more than crumbs under the table? How are they going to focus once again on radical inclusion and not on threat management?

    One of the key things to which the House of Bishops – and particularly those bishops supportive of LGBTQIA inclusion – need to commit is doing this better and growing some courage. It is time for them to take back a level of agency and own the decisions and the decision-making processes they are engaging in. This means, too, refusing to accept narratives peddled on the back of threats. There is no inevitability to the Alliance’s wish-list, and this needs to be clearly and unmistakably stated by our bishops. The alternative – that the House accepts that no change will happen unless structural provision is made, and that the House will not provide this – is that LGBTQIA people are the acceptable sacrifice. We – LGBTQIA people – are asking you: which is it?

    Indeed, in a letter to supporters this week, the CEEC has made clear that they want to see even the current commended prayers removed from use, and ‘if that is not possible’ to ‘advocate for a structural rearrangement which secures orthodoxy [sic’] going forward’. Threats will continue until they are taken on.

    Secondly, there needs to be a sense of urgency in the work and witness of the House of Bishops. LGBTQIA people are sick and tired of being trampled over or told to wait. David Monteith expressed this very powerfully last week, and his experience chimes with many of us. A failure to see why this is not only important but urgent is hurting the witness of the episcopal leadership of the Church of England – indeed, a failure to hear even a public word from inclusive bishops in the aftermath of this week’s car crash is fairly damning in and of itself. Of course, it is likely that the 44 bishops who spoke out a while back are now on a ‘do not appoint’ list provided by the Alliance to anti-LGBTQIA Crown Nominations Commission members considering diocesan appointments, but since when have threats been the way we go about our business? How about naming them instead, and calling the bluff of those who make them?

    Thirdly, they – and we – need to commit to what can be done right now, and get on with doing it. The arguments over what does and doesn’t require B2 are somewhat complicated (and I will engage with them in a later post), but it is quite obviously the case that something can be offered now (of which the PLF are a mere part and not the whole), and we ought to be getting on with it – and our bishops ought not only to be giving us quiet, covert cover, but to be public in their support. Similarly, now we have a route to dealing with the nonsense over clergy marriage, let’s do it – rather than kick the can down the road further.

    Some people have expressed dissatisfaction that parishes are not being encouraged to withhold parish share. Nobody is stopping you: if you are an incumbent with the support of your PCC and you wish to do so, then maybe now is indeed the time to do so – and to say so. Make it clear to your bishops that the threats of the Alliance are not the only show in town. Challenge decision making that prioritises those who threaten over those who are LGBTQIA. Support your bishops when they need it, and oppose them when they sell us down the river. Get involved in the campaigns that are out there, and if you feel they don’t go far enough, go further.

    And, of course, we are moving into an important year, where General Synod will once again be elected. The reality is that we need money for this campaign, because the purveyors of threats have loads of it. But we also need people. We need deanery synods that truly represent the people of the Church of England. Deanery synods elect General Synod. I will admit that I really hate General Synod and the way that Synod’s clear will has been ignored. But if we are to make change, we have to win – and win big – in these next elections. It matters for every part of our corporate life, like it or hate it – the election of bishops, the possibility of bringing in Equal Marriage, the way our money is spent, you name it.

    The past two and a half years, since the first LLF motion was passed, have been characterised by a failure of courage, imagination, integrity, theology: and of leadership. We have retreated into being a church of anxiety and fear, shaped by threats and bullying tactics. We have become risk-averse, frustrated, and angry. There has been an immeasurable damage to trust in the institution and in the leadership. We have lost our way.

    But it does not need to be like this, and with God’s grace it won’t be. We – all of us – need to change the narrative, reorient the church’s perspective, and get back to the business of living in love, faith, and hope. We can turn this around. And there is no time like the present to let the Holy Spirit blow afresh, and to turn again to the Lord, and live.

    Weeping may endure for a night: but joy cometh in the morning.

  • Swimming in the Deep End

    by Mother Arwen Ffolkes, Vicar of Eastbourne and member of General Synod

    Many years ago, during my discernment process, a conversation turned to the breadth of the Anglican tradition. Someone older and wiser than me remarked, “It is the shallow waters of the pool that always make the most noise.” I have never forgotten those words. Their truth is being borne out in our current time, when some of the loudest voices in our Church seem content to splash about in the shallows. There, amid the noise, hermeneutics, homiletics, and theology are too often reduced to something distressingly thin.

    I fear for some of my campaigning conservative evangelical brothers and sisters. I fear they have lost sight of the deep end and forgotten the joy of learning to swim freely in the vast and generous sea of God. Instead, they insist that those who venture into deeper waters have lost their way, and try to drag us back to the shallows, where the doggy paddle of literalism is the only stroke permitted.

    At General Synod, I often find myself asking: How small is your God? It is a question born not of anger but of grief. I have heard modernisms dressed up as tradition, literal moralism mistaken for orthodoxy, and in all of it, an astonishing blindness to the rotten fruit such distortions bear. Few of the early Christians would have recognised this way of practising the faith. To hang the whole of salvation on the nature of human relationships is perilously close to heresy. How small must one’s God be to imagine that human love could threaten divine holiness or undo redemption? It is not only incredible but tragic.

    I sometimes watch, with sadness, as the self-appointed defenders of God stand firm in their certainties, as if the Almighty needed protection from His own creation. In truth, they have lost their way – not because they are faithless, but because they have mistaken control for conviction and noise for depth.

    Increasingly, I find myself welcoming post-evangelicals who have outgrown the shallows. Life, in all its mess and mercy, has made the pool too small to hold their humanity. Instead of being cast out, they have swum upward and outward – to the deep end – where mystery and unknowing, silence and sacrament, become gifts rather than threats. There, they discover the God who truly walked among us: the One who meets us not in fear but in freedom, not in certainty but in communion.

    The beauty of Anglican faith lies in the holistic dance of Scripture, tradition, and reason – each speaking to experience with grace, charity, and love. It is not shallow. It is not new. It is the deep, living current of the early Church, flowing still, calling us to swim further in.

     

     

  • Winded After the Death of LLF

    by the Very Revd David Monteith, Dean of Canterbury

    Much metaphorical ink has already been spilt on the announcement from the House of Bishops of the death of Living in Love and Faith (LLF).  These reflections add nothing to that discourse but are an attempt to articulate something of what this announcement does to the likes of me as a person.  I had intellectually concluded months ago that LLF was terminally ill, but the actual death notice has a far deeper impact.

    Firstly, the document was issued about a process not about people.  It wasn’t in any way a pastoral letter to the church. I used to mark draft pastoral letters on ordinand selection conferences.  This would not have cut muster.  The same depersonalising dynamics have gone on at nearly every stage of this process.  This just doesn’t upset one or two people as Archbishop Stephen suggested. This is gut wrenching and hurtful for those of us most impacted. It seems there is need to return to a basic course in pastoral care.

    Secondly, this multiplies our shame which so many of us have and still experience as LGBT+ people in our families, churches and neighbourhoods. Dealing with internalised homophobia is often a life’s work for many of us, with the kindly welcome and acceptance by our Christian communities often being a key part of that healing. I found my life and heart constrict as I received this news once again; being told loudly and clearly that our minority lives and loves must remain marginal, hidden and uncatered-for like a vegetarian in 1980s France.

    Thirdly, I am asked to carry the public shame of this as a priest and in my case as the Dean of Canterbury.  Images of our cathedral accompany the press stories of ‘bishops do U-turns on gay blessing’ headlines. No matter what I do or say or no matter how I care or try to love others here, the iconography is clear: that LGBT+ people are never fully welcome here.  I am embarrassed and feel a deep sense of personal moral injury without even any remaining left-over crumbs to offer.

    Fourthly, the social media storms of recent days about our graffiti exhibition so often focussed on the fact that we worked with marginalised communities. This means I was ‘woke’ and what else was to be expected since I was in a gay relationship.  These vulnerable young people asked far from marginal questions; they were those all of us might ask. The haters piled in with force and now they have even more reason to pile in again. What could I say when these young folks asked me if the church excluded them? What could I honestly say?

    Fifthly, I realise that all this is so niche and of none or little concern to many people in the church, unlike for those in the wider world who mostly do not comprehend why love does not mean love.  None of my clergy colleagues have enquired as to how I am doing.  No one from the bishop’s staff on which I sit have said a word. None have even alluded to noticing that the bishops had issued their conclusions. Nothing.  We are invisible despite being present and our cares and concerns are best kept to our own little minority lives.

    Sixthly, this invisibility intensifies all the other experiences of invisibility. For example, when giving a talk and the last part of my biography is omitted; when a bishop asked me to make sure my partner was not around when certain clergy visited; when as a new Dean I didn’t get invitations from the county set because they didn’t want to invite my partner but were too polite to want to enact a social snub so didn’t invite me either. Being told directly never to mention my sexuality when dealing with visiting bishops from the Communion unless they brought it up, because many would see me as possessed. Talk about making me disappear. So many active processes, not just passive assumptions.

    Seventhly, there is little likelihood of anything improving and every likelihood of things getting much worse for LGBT+ people.  Many agree that it is now far harder for us in the church than it was 30+ years ago. The tide is turning in the world with gains in equality now being questioned and many, including me, are fearful that what we see with far-right parties elsewhere, we may see here too. From early in ministry, I learnt to respect bishops but not to trust them.  I couldn’t begin to make a list of the broken promises and quiet assurances that ‘all will be well’. When the chips are down for the church, both the institution and her leaders find us an easy victim to hurt in playing out politics of so-called normality. Why else was my sexuality highlighted when I was trying to uphold safeguarding during the departure of the last archbishop?  I don’t think we can trust the church to defend us if such a terrible day came. We would not justify care.

    Eighthly, I have bent over backwards over the years to be gracious and kind, to not walk away from the table, to become vulnerable in sharing my self in conversations and dialogue.  I have listened to those of a conservative view with grace.  I have watched them behave despicably in meetings, soaking up their violence against me and mine and so often with an annoying smile. Following Archbishop Rowan’s insight, I remember that unity is the quest which keeps on asking ‘who is not here?’ rather than ‘you do or do not belong’.  But it is exhausting and sapping of limited energies. Non-reciprocation of generosity breaks the relationship and yet apparently it is me bringing disunity to the church?

    Ninthly, many of us simply slog our guts out day in day out. This news has winded me and made me see that no significant change is likely in my life span. The sense of being an ‘alien in the household of God’ grows. As a Dean I spend a lot of energy on taking care not to demoralise our teams, despite the challenges, and to look forward hopefully.  There is no hope for significant change in the C of E with respect to LGBT+ people yet many of us are stuck having given our life to this ministry yet not being able to afford to retire nor having the heart to abandon our sense of calling.  Pay us all off to get rid of us and I may just rethink, if that is really where you want to head! Why, if you really do think that we are living without true repentance and are unworthy of blessings, do you not just get rid of us as that is the conclusion of the logic now received in this settled view ?

    Tenthly and finally, this is akin to a bereavement with all the usual feelings and thoughts.  I have no idea what to grieve well looks like in this situation. Of course, I can rely on the church and the bishops not to provide me with any assistance on that. In one theory of bereavement, key to recovery is to invest in the new future beyond the loss. The problem for me is that no new future is articulated in any way for LGBT+ people.  That which was perhaps previously imagined is killed off. The hollow words of apology never came to anything. Micro aggressions and visceral fear and anger continue to be experienced by us. The new Christian Inclusion is but fantasy. Apparently, as the bullies of old told me in school, I am to take it on the chin ‘like a man’ (clearly a heterosexual one) and just let these acts of violence and harm keep on coming.

    Perhaps the only lasting hope might be another victim who also had to take it – that is about all that remains.

     

  • Living in Love and Faith: Where is the Power?

    by Revd Ruth Harley (Vicar, Cowgate and Priest in Charge, Newbiggin Hall)

    Back at the start of the Living in Love and Faith process (LLF), one of the more useful resources to be produced was the ‘Pastoral Principles’ – a set of six concepts intended to enable better conversations across difference. One of the Pastoral Principles was “pay attention to power”. And yet, as we take in the latest update on LLF from the House of Bishops, it seems evident that little if any attention has really been paid to power in the course of the LLF process.

    Power is a slippery thing. It hides in plain sight, and works in ways which can be hard to grasp. And yet, if we do actually pay attention to power, and name how power is being used in in a particular situation, it can be deeply revealing.

    Power is an important theological concept. We speak of God as omnipotent – all powerful. We read Paul’s description of “Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.” We might hear someone describe “the Holy Spirit moving powerfully” in a particular church or event. But what kind of power is this? Very often we don’t stop to examine it too closely. And unexamined power is always dangerous.

    I am not, here, attempting to offer a fully worked-out theology of power (for that, I recommend Anna Mercedes’ excellent book Power For). But I do want to consider the role of power which has led to this latest set of decisions from the House of Bishops.

    Sometimes it is helpful to separate out the church’s “espoused theology” – what we say we believe – from its “operant theology” – what the things we do and how we do them reveal about what we believe. Where those two theologies are at odds, it can be very revealing.

    The church’s espoused theology of power is one of equality and justice, but also of self-abnegation, servanthood, “God’s power made perfect in human weakness”. The story we tell about how power exists in the church is one of the foot-washing, self-emptying power of love which we see in Christ.

    But very often this is not the operant theology of power in the church, it is not how we really live and relate to each other. Certainly the operant theology of power in the LLF process is something very different, and if we really do pay attention to power, to how it actually works, rather than how it is spoken about, we start to see some of the theological problems underlying this latest set-back in the slow and painful process.

    Firstly, the espoused theology of power contained within the LLF process is one of equality: that we all approach the process from equal positions, with equal power, with equal concerns. This is demonstrably not so. And a failure to acknowledge an imbalance of power always works in favour of those with whom the power already lies. The operant theology of LLF is one in which LGBTQ+ members of the church (and to a lesser extent our allies) simultaneously have less institutional power, and more at stake – our identities, livelihoods, vocations, relationships, in addition to the theological, ecclesial and missional concerns which all parties bring to the LLF process. If this inequality goes unacknowledged, as it largely has, then everything that is built on that espoused theology of equal power will be at best precarious, and at worst false and manipulative.

    Secondly, the espoused theology of power within the church is one in which divine power, and therefore power within the church, functions very differently to worldly power. And yet, the attention paid to money and the threat of its withdrawal by conservative churches during the LLF process suggests a rather different operant theology.

    Thirdly, there is the question of whose voice is heard, and how. The espoused theology of LLF is that all voices are heard equally. And yet… The attention given to threats of schism, threats of diminishing numbers and income, by those promoting a conservative stance on sexuality is vastly greater than that given to the many LGBTQ+ folks and allies who have quietly walked away, or who have bravely spoken about the harm done to them and to those they love by conservative and sometimes openly homophobic church teaching, whose voices remain largely unheard, silenced or ignored. The operant theology of the LLF process is that some voices are worth more than others.

    Finally, there is the question of conscience. The latest update from the House of Bishops is keen to emphasise that the next stage of the process will “respect the conscience” of those opposed to using the Prayers of Love and Faith. Good – I don’t think anyone in favour of greater progress towards LGBTQ+ equality wants people to be forced or coerced into using prayers against their conscience. But the question of conscience, throughout the LLF process, only ever seems to cut one way.

    There are thousands of clergy currently forced to act against their conscience, myself among them. We act against our conscience every time we explain that we can’t marry a same-sex couple who wish to celebrate their love and commitment in the presence of God. We act against our conscience when we constrain ourselves to the meagre offerings allowed by PLF, instead of celebrating and blessing the fullness of what we see God doing in the lives and loves of faithful LGBTQ+ people. The cost of overriding our conscience is a form of moral injury, and a very real harm not only to individuals but to the church as a whole. But our conscience is of no concern to the House of Bishops, it seems.

    Whatever the espoused theology of the church, when the operant theology evident in the actions (or inactions) of its leadership reveals that some voices are worth more than others, some consciences more worth protecting than others, it is hard to escape the conclusion that some people are worth more than others: more fully human, more fully made in God’s image, more beloved.

    That, of course, is not true. And nor is it the church’s espoused theology. But it is too often, including in the House of Bishops’ latest (in)action on LLF, the church’s operant theology. And that operant theology damages the body of Christ because, whatever kind or well-intentioned words may be said, what is felt and known and experienced as the lived reality is a deeply damaging theology of power, which tramples over the lives and loves and the very humanity of LGBTQ+ folks (yet again) in the futile search for a false unity which will allow those who already hold power to hold onto it, without needing to pay any attention at all.

     

  • Representation and Celebration

    by Canon Dr Phil Groves, who was a CMS Mission partner and lecturer in theology at St Philip’s Kongwa in Tanzania. He served at the Anglican Communion Office for 10 years. He has attended two Lambeth Conferences, three Primates’ Meetings and four ACCs. He has a PhD on Partnership in the Anglican Communion and is Vicar of the parishes of Cuddington and of Stone, Dinton and Hartwell. He is dyslexic and a member of the Church of England’s Neurodiversity Working Group.

    A few months ago, I was infuriated by commentators assuming that the representatives on the Crown Nominations Commission from the Anglican Communion would block the nomination of a woman as Archbishop of Canterbury. I thought it was nonsense, and I was right.

    I am now amazed by the assumption that ‘The Global South’ will be incensed by the nomination of Bishop Sarah Mullally because she is a woman. Give me the evidence.

    I know that the Global Anglican Future Conference (GAFCON) objects to the appointment of a woman and claims that the majority of the Anglican Communion do not accept women as bishops, but claims that their churches and the Global South Fellowship of Anglican Churches (GSFA) represent 75% or 85% of Anglicans should not go unchallenged. What does such a claim even mean?

    It takes me back to the 2007 Primates’ Meeting in Tanzania at the height of the controversy over the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson. The primates were divided, with a number refusing to take communion with the Presiding Bishop of TEC – Katharine Jefferts Schori. Some refused to eat with her.

    As the Sunday approached, speculation was rife as to her reception at the public service of Holy Communion to be held on the holy ground of Zanzibar Cathedral. Online, a popular ‘news service’ from an extreme conservative perspective carried a series of comments speculating that she may be taken out and stoned for her heresy (others suggesting being thrown from the spire might be more appropriate).

    All primates bar Archbishop Akinola of Nigeria (who was ill) were present at the service and the host – Archbishop Mtetemela of Tanzania – introduced them one by one. Each one was met with enthusiastic applause. When it came to Bishop Katharine, we wondered what the reception would be. It was astounding.

    The Diocesan Mothers’ Union were prepared and waiting: to a woman they rose in joyful celebration. Around 50, perhaps as many as 100 women in their specially designed dresses burst into song to welcome ‘their’ primate. Other women around the Cathedral stood up to join them and the dancing spilled into the aisles.

    Zanzibar Cathedral is an iconic symbol of the Oxford Movement and a bastion of the High Church movement. Her bishops – especially former Archbishop John Ramadhani who was present at the service – had been outspoken in their opposition to women priests. It was assumed his views were shared – that is he represented the women and men of his diocese.

    Not a bit of it. The women made their views known – Bishop Katharine was an inspiration: a symbol of hope. She represented them.

    No one would claim that her views, especially her views on the inclusion of LGBTQI+ people, were shared by those celebrating her presence; what they were celebrating was their own inclusion in the body of Christ as women.

    So, when GAFCON or GSFA say the small number of primates and bishops who support their cause ‘represent’ so many thousands or millions of Anglicans, I wonder what they mean.

    When the GSFA sought support from bishops at the Lambeth Conference for a renewed commitment to Lambeth I.10 they claimed that the three Church of England bishops who signed their petition ‘represented’ 47,000 Anglicans. Did they seriously think that all 47,000 worshippers in those three dioceses were of the same mind as their bishops? They were effectively claiming that every worshipper in those dioceses opposed the celebration of faithful gay and lesbian relationships. Unbelievable. We should be equally cynical if we think that any primate of any province has the full, unequivocal support of their bishops, clergy, and people.

    GAFCON and GSFA have used the tactic of boycotting to force the hand of a Communion that hates division. They seek to exert power by stamping their feet and walking out. In doing so they often talk of ‘representing’ their constituency. But when Archbishop Mouneer Anis – then Primate of Jerusalem and the Middle East – and Archbishop Eluid Wabukala – Primate of Kenya – announced their boycott of the Anglican Consultative Council in 2016, neither of them consulted their provinces and both of their provincial delegations attended. Who were they ‘representing’?

    I guarantee that when the future Archbishop of Canterbury visits Tanzania the Mothers’ Union – with a mighty membership of over 600,000 – will go wild. It will be a week-long ‘sharehe’: a celebration with music and dance.

    In my experience – and I have attended many church services across Africa – women outnumber men in every congregation. They can often be two-thirds or even three-quarters of the worshippers, and yet every leader of both the GAFCON Council and Advisors and the board of GSFA are all men. This is not representation.

    The African Anglican women bishops are celebrating the nomination. Bishop Emily Onyango told the BBC that ‘Gafcon’s view was neither theologically nor biblically sound, but more “patriarchal, which is not very useful to the Church”.’ She knows that Bishop Mullally is someone who listens and listening, she says, is our great hope.

    I first met Onyango in 2008 in Oxford when she was studying for her PhD. She had just returned from the initial GAFCON where she had been a member of the theological commission. She talked to me of her experience of being sidelined and diminished. I later worked with her on Continuing Indaba and she is one of the most brilliant and insightful theologians of our generation. Her reflection on Sarah, Hagar, and Abraham in the context of her experience of fleeing ethnic violence in Kenya and her experience of polygamous societies from a female perspective is the most poignant pieces of biblical exegesis I have ever read. We rarely hear from her is because she is not offered the platforms for her voice to be heard; an exception is a podcast in the ‘Mutuality Matters’ series where she discusses the role of women in the East African revival movement and beyond.

    African Anglican women like Bishop Onyango encounter misogyny every day and they organise and speak out. The Mothers’ Union – often said to be the largest membership organisation in the world – campaigns against gender-based violence, female genital mutilation and for education for girls. African Anglicanism is a progressive movement for liberation.

    These women are not western liberals – they have a different agenda – but neither are they western conservatives. They are passionate followers of Christ. They remind me of the Samaritan woman in John 4, who was perfectly able to engage in theological dialogue, challenge, and be challenged and like her they then go out to proclaim the good news. They may not be ordained, but they are often the leaders of the church.

    When he reflected on GAFCON 2 in 2013, Andrew Atherstone remarked that ‘GAFCON will need to work harder to recruit and retain egalitarians if it is to enhance its appeal as a broad coalition.’ The response of the GAFCON chair to the nomination of a woman – even though he is the primate of a church that ordains women – shows that this work has not been done: the direction of travel is in the opposite direction.

    This has implications for those in the Church of England who are looking to ally themselves to GAFCON. Is their emerging structure sustainable? They are seeking to combine complementarians who believe that leadership in the church is exclusively male and those who do not, including women who are priests and bishops. The common response is that this is a second order issue, but the experience elsewhere is that women are asked to voluntarily forgo roles of leadership to maintain the unity of the movement. In England this is evidenced by the male-only leadership of  The Anglican Mission in England (AMiE) and the recent unorthodox ‘ordination’ of seven male deacons by a Bishop from REACH – a church that regards male headship as a first order issue. I wonder if women bishops and even priests or presbyters will continue to be welcome in the new movement.

    As for Archbishop-designate Sarah Mullally – she will discover that, across the Global South, women will be celebrating. They will recognise that they have someone who represents them. The Church of England has a kind, compassionate leader who exhibits the greatest of spiritual gifts as defined in 1 Corinthians 13. Let’s celebrate with the Global South women bishops.

     

     

  • The Cost of Political Violence: After Charlie Kirk

    by Charlie Bell, Fellow in Public Theology and Medicine at Girton College, Cambridge, Associate Vicar of St John the Divine, Kennington, in the Diocese of Southwark, and member of the LLF Vocations and Ministry Working Group

    The truly horrible killing – in front not only of thousands of young people but also of his own family – of Charlie Kirk yesterday evening must rank amongst the most viscerally disturbing and potentially dangerous events of the past year. It is not, of course, the only example of gun violence – indeed, not even the only example of gun violence in the US yesterday – and nor is it the only killing, or attempted killing, this year of a figure in the US political arena, yet already it is clear that its impact on public life will be profound. At the time of writing, we know neither the identity nor the motive of the killer, yet it is already being described as a piece of political violence – and sadly, given the state of politics across the Atlantic and even on this side, too, there may be outrage but there is rather less surprise. We have sunk to this level, and we know it.

    The political response to these kinds of acts of violence is often mixed, but mainstream politicians – indeed, those who genuinely represent the mainstream perspectives of much of the population who sit somewhere around the centre ground – will usually see times like this as an opportunity to speak of, and genuinely strive for, unity. For all we disagree – sometimes vehemently and fundamentally – actualised violence in the public square is universally acknowledged as something to be avoided at all costs. It is through words that we disagree, and it is through democratic forms of accountability that we challenge and protest actions taken. A gun is never – and can never – be the answer to our differences. That way lies ruin and destruction, and, in the end, nobody benefits from cycles of violence – it is a path to civil unrest and devastation. This has been the accepted narrative through most of our recent history.

    Yet something seems to have changed, for the worse.

    As I say, as yet we do not know the identity of the killer, or their motive. Yet already we have heard a clear line being pushed by a number of politicians on both sides of the Atlantic that lay the blame for this on ‘the left’. In doing so, they play a very dangerous game indeed.

    Trump was first out the gates blaming the ‘radical left’. Musk, Yusuf, Harwood, Jenrick, and many more, followed him. X is full of sanctimonious blaming of ‘the left’ for fomenting this political violence. Others, like Nigel Farage, have followed, with allusions to ‘free speech’ which intentionally leave little to the imagination and suggest that there is a grand conspiratorial plot by their opponents to meet calm speech with violence. Indeed, the pervasive and rather vague language of ‘martyrdom’ is as disturbing as it is bizarre – and plain wrong.

    This does three deeply pernicious things. The first is to – again – blatantly ignore the impact of gun ownership, and the accompanying ‘God given right’ philosophy, on the potential for political violence in the US. The second is to blatantly ignore the swathe of political violence committed against those who would identify as left wing over the past year, pretending into existence an inevitable link between left-wing politics and violence, and further escalating the rhetoric that politicises and makes more dangerous an already tinder-box situation. And the third? In the process of doing this, to try to divert the public conversation from the actual rot at the heart of much of our contemporary public life and its source – cheap, amoral populism. It is to employ what is a horrifying human tragedy, with its structural underpinning, to further political game-playing and propaganda.

    Nobody in politics, from whatever wing, is immune from criticism in the way our public debate has been debased. This is not, really, a question of right and left, but rather, ultimately, of good faith and bad faith, whatever the political philosophy. There are plenty of right-wing and left-wing politicians who are able to clearly state this, and there are right-wing and left-wing identifying politicians and political commentators who instead choose to fan the flames of anger and division rather than seek for common ground. Yet our political ground – here and in the US – seems to have shifted to favour those who offer easy answers and lazy stereotyping in place of serious and calm debate. Politics has become less concerned with the common good, and instead tends towards authoritarian and totalitarian modes of behaving that all too easily take hold in our public life.

    And whilst it is true that words do not kill, we must surely not be naïve and imagine that our rhetoric has no impact, whoever we are, and however important we believe our cause to be. As cheap populism of all forms has grown in recent years, we have sat increasingly lightly to the truth and made use of caricature and lies to convince and convict others of our point of view. We have bought into the idea that ‘to win at all costs’ is the most legitimate of political philosophies, and forgotten the simple idea that telling the truth, and engaging with actual people and their ideas rather than caricatures and easy targets is the way to build a stable and secure democracy.

    We have, in the process, allowed bad actors to increasingly influence our debate, believing in and promoting the lie that saying disgusting and demeaning things ‘nicely’ and with a sense of ‘politeness’ is some form of hallowed civil public debate. We have similarly increasingly accepted the idea that ‘free speech’ in a democratic society comes with absolutely no responsibility – that disinformation, lies, dehumanising language are all important to preserve as part of ‘healthy debate’. Those who speak into public spaces cannot, surely, have carte blanche to stir up hate and even violence, however carefully and casuistically they say these things, and however much they smile at the same time in a performance of ‘reasonableness’.  

    At the same time, we have failed to pay proper attention to power dynamics and the unequal impact of our words on others, imagining that when we devalue another’s humanity it is all part of ‘the debate’. Not all words are equal, and nor is their impact – yet this simple and self-evident truth is all-too-frequently ignored. We ignore the fact that if we keep hacking away at another person with our rhetoric – and, indeed, with our actions – we cause deep wounds that dehumanise both them and us. In our pursuit of the mythical ‘freedom of speech’, we fail to remember that another key watchword of healthy democracies is the affording of dignity to all its members.

    Yet we seem unable to join the dots between intentional divisiveness, the dehumanising of opponents, the deserved and undeserved loss of trust in the institutions that have held us together, the fomenting of violent disagreement, the trivialising and normalising of violence in the public square (thinking, indeed, of January sixth), and the increasing preponderance of violence itself. It is – frankly – killing us.

    So how might the church speak into this space – especially an Established church like the Church of England? What might we do to try to play our part in reviving the best of public life and in banishing those things that lead to this kind of devastation?

    The first thing we must do, surely, is get our own house in order. Our public debates – the way we have spoken to and about each other, and spoken of each other’s ideas, has been a disgrace far too much of the time. Our willingness to scapegoat others, to see an issue and not a person, to blame someone else rather than take responsibility for our own actions and words, appears endless, and similarly our determination to debate in bad faith means our ‘good disagreement’ is nothing of the sort. At its best, the church – particularly an Established church – should, surely, be a place of genuine discussion and dignified (in its truest sense) debate. Imagine an Established church that gave the space for opposing points of view to meet, not only to find common ground but to more carefully understand and outline the differences that remain. Imagine a Church of England that could be not only an example of how things might be done, but the agora in which they actually are done.

    Yet we must not fool ourselves that this will happen overnight. Not only do we need to be a place that practices what we preach, but we need to find a way of speaking into public debate that dials down the rhetoric and promotes free and dignified speech in which the humanity of the other is our first concern. This will mean naming power imbalances and pointing out where cheap populism would rather scapegoat than engage. It means, for example, making clear that the question of immigration is not as simple as some wish to make out, and that simplistic answers will therefore not do. It means committing to listening as much as to speaking, and to recommitting to the idea of being accountable to one another as part of what it means to be human. It means respecting the other enough to really hear them, and building a society in which we can expect that from the other, too, where we might once again find trust in the public square.

    This is a hard ask, and it’s not something that’s going to happen overnight. Indeed, as much as the church wants to think of itself as a place and agent of reconciliation, let’s not be hasty and imagine we are at that stage yet. Perhaps the Church of England’s vocation, right now, is instead to call the nation to a period of reflection – one in which we need to share. This is not some nice-sounding but fruitless exercise – it is painful, and self-examining, and purposeful. This reflection is an active process – one where we have to be willing to attend to and address the rot, before we dare rebuild upon it. It is to call the nation – those of good will – to an active willingness to reject cheap populism and instead choose graceful truth-seeking, and be changed in the process. It is to reorient our public life. Perhaps, simply, this is the church’s vocation in such a time as this. If the Body of Christ cannot do it, then who can?

    And with God, nothing is impossible.

  • Whose Toilet Is It? A Personal Theological Reflection on Bodies and Spaces

    by Alex Clare-Young. Alex is a thinker, facilitator and writer. They are a minister, member of the Joint Public Issues Team and patron of the Open Table Network

    I am going to write about toilets. I should probably explain a few things first: I am trans and I am disabled. Both of those facts mean that I cannot use gendered toilets any more. In fact, they mean that I have lost access to an awful lot of public spaces in general.

    Anyway, back to toilets. I grew up living as female, before I transitioned, which meant that I spent 18 years of my life using a mixture of female-designated and accessible toilets. I have been attacked multiple times in single-‘sex’ toilets. Every single time it has been by a cis woman – a woman who wasn’t trans.

    It may not come as a surprise to hear that I don’t think that public toilets have ever been safe spaces.

    The context: gender and public spaces

    I don’t like the term ‘culture wars’. It implies a dynamic of equal powers battling it out with mortal consequences. It also lends a sort of unearned gravitas to the political gameplay that instrumentalises trans people. Nevertheless, I will use the term here as it is the one most often used to refer to the situation we find ourselves in.

    Trans people have been the game-pieces of culture wars for some time. We have been banned from bathrooms in various USA states for over a decade. This has extended to the separation of gender-nonconforming children and young people from their families and a significant reduction in access to healthcare for trans people.

    In the UK, culture wars are different, with many people largely uninterested whilst those on the margins find themselves pushed increasingly farther out of the rapidly-shrinking middle ground. Recently, this has been particularly apparent in three areas: 1) horrific clashes over the housing of human beings who are seeking asylum in local hotels, 2) the provision of vital benefits to human beings who happen to be disabled and 3) the presence of human beings who happen to be trans in public spaces. So as a disabled trans person things are increasingly difficult.

    The EHRC Guidance

    The particularly challenging piece of this current phase of the UK’s Americanesque journey, for me, is caused by corporate and local responses to the EHRC interim guidance on gender and the Equality Act. The guidance effectively states that trans people may not use the gendered space that accords with their gender identity and should not use the gendered space that accords with their gender identity if this is likely to cause concern.

    That means that many trans people are left unable to use gendered public spaces – including public toilets – at all. The EHRC’s way of handling that has been to suggest that premises should ensure gender neutral toilets are available. This is not only unhelpful, it is a mishandling of the Act which requires the necessity of any exclusion based on protected characteristics to be rigorously proven – it has to be a proportionate means of achieving a legitimate aim. This means that it needs to be the least discriminatory way to meet that aim.

    The myth of the accessible toilet

    Now I’m going to take off my trans hat and put on my disabled one (I wish I could effect this switch, in both directions, in real life). Since becoming a full-time wheelchair user, I now have to use the accessible toilet at all times. The thing is, accessible toilets are already kind of a unicorn.

    So-called accessible toilets often have toilet roll you can’t reach, filthy floors that you wouldn’t want to wheel over (remember, many wheelchair users effectively have to touch very near the soles of our shoes with our hands for every move we make), and small-to-nonexistent turning circles crowded by overflowing bins.

    So, when I realised that several moto service stations had responded to the EHRC guidance by labelling their ‘accessible’ toilets as ‘inclusive’, I began to worry. It’s not that I don’t want trans folks to be able to use accessible loos. Of course I do. I want every trans person to feel safe, and to feel like they – we – have public spaces we can access. If those are intersectional spaces, what’s not to like.

    However, this label was not only targeting trans people. The big wheelchair on the door had been replaced with a big man symbol, a big woman symbol and a tiny little wheelchair in the bottom corner. The radar key lock had been removed. This was now just a big toilet. And there was only one.

    The more public spaces I go to, the more I realise that this has been the general response to the EHRC guidance – taking already limited space away from disabled folks and opening up accessible loos to anyone who can’t be bothered queuing. Yes, invisible disabilities exist – mine used to be one. Yes, trans people deserve toilets we can use – I am one. Yes, women are not safe in toilets – I learnt that the hard way.

    The thing is, taking away spaces is not the answer. No-one can win this so-called battle. All that we have gained is toilets that are less safe for women because anyone with a beard can access one by claiming to be a transman, accessible toilets that are predominantly used by able-bodied cis men, and a general increase in both transphobia and misogyny.

    The theology: Christ in public spaces

    So how do we reframe this woeful web of misinformation? How do we take the power out of a rapidly-escalating human rights battle? I believe that we need to unpick the underlying threads. To do this, I would like to consider three ways of looking at fair, safe and just uses of public space.

    Inclusivity

    Firstly, let’s consider what inclusivity means. An inclusive space is a space where everyone is welcome, just as they are. It is often held up as being the gold standard. And yet, inclusive spaces can be undermined by scarcity narratives. Remember when a woman poured expensive perfume on Jesus’s feet and was accused of denying the poor? No-one has been policing gendered toilets to date and trans people have been using them without causing harm. So why now? Are we, like the early disciples, playing whataboutery with Christ’s own body?

    Exclusivity

    So what about exclusivity? That seems to be the next logical move. Scarcity leads to protectionism. MY flag, MY taxes, MY spaces. You can’t have our spaces – get your own. It has seriously alarmed me to see so-called feminists arguing that the tiny minority of folks who are trans should simply create our own spaces. Last time I tried to build a public toilet without planning permission it didn’t go so well… I wonder what the un-named convert to Christianity in Acts 8 would have done if, when they asked, “Here is water, what is there to stop me being baptized?”, were given the response, “Not until you dig your own well”.

    Practicality

    I’m aware I may be using too much humour here. It’s a defence mechanism. This stuff is actually scary to me. Disabled people avoid leaving our houses due to lack of safe, sanitary, accessible public facilities, trans people are being attacked in public and often sadly losing their lives in private, and women are not any closer to real solutions to the actual causes of sexual violence in public spaces, not least the lack of any form of adequate justice.

    The only way to get through this is to stop looking for convenient scapegoats and to start helping each other. Can’t get to the soothing water? OK, I will carry you. Can’t reach Jesus? OK, this roof has to go. What’s to stop me being baptised? Nothing.

    We need to work together to create safe and accessible public spaces for trans people, disabled people and women, and that journey does not start when we attack each other. It starts by shifting the narrative. Are public toilets safe, accessible and inclusive? No. Why? Because systemic injustice and capitalist motivations have led to flimsy stalls and unsanitary spaces. Are trans people the problem? No. So how do we solve it? We build something better. Together.

    In practice: what now?

    10 hours before I wrote this, the EHRC submitted an updated code of practice to the Minister for Women and Equalities. They did not complete a full and proper public consultation and Parliament has not yet had a chance to debate the advice. The chair of the EHRC is encouraging people to preempt the process, stating that “We have been clear that service providers, associations and public functions should not wait for the code of practice to be published”. This irresponsible weaponising of legal process is what has caused the chaos I have described throughout this article.

    So firstly, please wait. If you own a space, please don’t change the rules before the rules actually exist. Secondly, please speak. Whatever happens, the draft code must be laid before Parliament for 40 days before it is in effect. Speak to your MP urgently and ask them to insist on a debate on this guidance, before it is too late. Finally, counter the misinformation. Trans people are not the problem. Women are not the problem. Disabled people are not the problem. The systems that use us as pawns are. Can we not just stop fighting and start building the solutions ourselves? Please?