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Category: LGBT Stories

  • Respecting Trans People, Part 2: Towards a Working Group

    by Susannah Clark, a member of the Fellowship of the Love of God who has worked as a Prison Governor in charge of a national centre for sex offenders, as a teacher of teenagers for 25 years and, after transitioning 16 years ago, as a registered nurse

    As I explained in Part 1 of my review of trans crisis in this country – and the lived experience of trans people – we have been ‘monstered’ by the media, whose campaigns have often framed us as predators and perverts in the minds of the public; they have formed part of a coalition including very conservative Christians, a sub-section of feminists who seek our exclusion, and politicians who have ‘weaponised’ rare and exceptional incidents to brand trans people as ‘threat’ out of fear of their voters shifting to Reform UK. The outcome for trans people has been their imminent exclusion from areas of life where they had previously been accepted by most people, who took a live and let live view on a tiny minority who, sadly, now find themselves confronted on the street by thugs and haters who believe they have been given a mandate for their abuse.

    Sadly, the outcome of Living in Love and Faith (LLF) has not kept pace with this onslaught on trans people’s lives.

    By its own admission, in the last four years the Church of England has side-lined work on trans issues. This could have been expected to form an integral part of LLF’s work on – in the words of the subtitle of the LLF book – ‘identity, sexuality, relationships and marriage’. Instead, huge energy and time are being invested in what has been nearing an existential crisis over same-sex blessings and sexuality. But trans people now find themselves faced with an existential crisis of their own. The need for a lead from the Church and a serious programme to deliver pastoral care to trans people – and importantly, their families as well – is now urgent. The ‘trans’ element of LLF should no longer be left in limbo.

    Let me offer a review of the Church of England’s actions in the past decade.

    If we start with the background, trans people had long been accepted and accommodated in their lived identities and gender, for example by the Church’s willingness to ordain trans priests/ministers. We still have transgender clergy today.

    Further to this, in a more tolerant and generous time – July 2017 – General Synod overwhelmingly (over 75%) passed a motion recognising the need for transgender people to be welcomed and affirmed in churches.

    This was followed in December 2018 by Pastoral Guidance: ‘the House of Bishops commends the rite of Affirmation of Baptismal Faith as the central feature of any service to recognize liturgically a person’s gender transition’… They further stated: ‘It is appropriate to identify the preference of a transgender person in respect of their name and gendered (or other) pronouns… the terms ‘trans man’ (referring to someone who has undergone female-to-male transition) and ‘trans woman’ (male-to-female) are sometimes preferred by the individual concerned.’ This has of course now been called into question by the recent Supreme Court ruling (though that only referenced one specific law).

    The Church’s ‘Living in Love and Faith’ initiative began in 2017 and included a study of gender. People were invited to submit views and attend interviews. I myself was invited to an interview on 13 February 2019 with Eeva John, at that time leading the process. She was sensitive but, of course, opening up about one’s life trauma and journey to wholeness came at a cost. But trans people participated in this process in good faith.

    Meanwhile, in July 2019, an updated version of ‘Valuing All God’s Children’ (Church of England’s Guidance for Schools) was published, which reflected the Church’s acceptance of trans identities up to that time. For example, it stated that adolescence… ‘is a time when the school culture needs to offer a compassionate acceptance that again allows young people to ‘try on identities for size’, and explore who they are and how best to be themselves, to grow into self-congruence, whilst acknowledging that they may struggle and be confused along the way. Young adults need to be offered the freedom that was afforded to the child in nursery of the metaphorical dressing up box of trying on identities without assumption or judgement.’ All students should be helped to ‘understand the issues for those who feel they are trans/transgender and may be in the process of transition, understanding the impact that bullying has on them. It is important to teach pupils to understand the appropriate use of gender labels and names for trans people and to explore why deliberately calling someone the gender other than that which they choose to identify as is a form of bullying.’

    However, a counter-culture of ideologies started to emerge (and be promoted by a trans-hostile media): religious ideology, trans-exclusionary feminist ideology, and the ‘anti-woke’ ideology of the political right.

    The work of LLF on the pastoral care of trans people was still being presented as an integral part of its purposes. For example, on 11 May 2021, the Next Steps Group tasked to continue the LLF work reported: ‘The group moved on to discuss the possibility of further work on questions of gender identity and transition. The group acknowledged that this is a complicated area and a first step will be to gather resources to enable the Church of England to be better informed. The group reiterated its commitment to do this together with people most affected by these questions and to do so with the utmost compassion and grace, creating as brave and safe a space for everyone as possible.’

    By the following month, that Group proposed a Working Group on trans issues in the Church: ‘The question of how to take forward the proposal of a working group on gender identity and transition was discussed. The work will need to be undertaken knowledgeably and compassionately as it will involve inviting people to come together among whom there are deep and painful divisions. The Group reconfirmed its commitment to supporting those most affected by questions raised by the work.’ In July, they stated that ‘The group discussed the correspondence members had received regarding the proposed gender identity and transition work and agreed a response.’

    And where is that Working Group? So great was the pressure on Church leaders over the threats of schism caused by the same-sex issue, that it was put on hold.

    In the absence of action at the top, I initiated a very helpful interaction with a conservative ordained minister, who was gracious and decent. His well-known evangelical church was grappling with trans issues too. In collaboration (I also led a teaching session at the church) we developed a 40-point list of guidelines on the pastoral care of trans people (a diluted version can be seen here and was sent to the Next Steps Group on 6 April 2022).

    There was no reply.

    So on 25 May 2022, I reached out again to the LLF team, asking whether the group had been formed, and how many trans people were part of it. I noted ‘I am anxious that the latest review/process does not get overtaken by any individuals who attempt to de-construct trans identity, or subvert our lives, while I respect a place for a range of views.’

    This was the reply: ‘The further work on gender identity and transition is currently on ‘pause’ as the Next Steps Group works out by and with whom and how this will be taken forward. So no group has been formed, as yet, and no further work has taken place. It will, of course, be vital for any work to involve the full range of diversities in relation to lived experience and convictions and, as you know, that in itself is a significant challenge in the current climate. It will also be vital to do this in a way that seeks to be authentically pastoral and welcoming of all. There is much work to do in gaining the trust of trans people who have experienced the deep and personal pain of being at the receiving end of so much unhelpfully and unthoughtfully articulated ‘debate’ both inside and outside the church.’

    So that was official: The Working Group on trans issues, proposed the previous year, was ‘paused’.

    That was disappointing, firstly because people had opened and given themselves in good faith to the LLF process, and secondly because the climate in society for trans people was by then worsening.

    Since the trans element of LLF had been put on hold, it was saddening to read that the statement on 3 March 2023 by the Next Steps Group tasked with following through on LLF issues opened with the words: ‘The remit of the Next Steps group now having reached its conclusion…’

    In July 2024 (three years after a Working Group on trans issues had been proposed) I wrote to Bishop Martyn Snow, who had taken over as lead bishop on the LLF process: ‘The reason I am writing is that I am confused and unclear about the state of play on future guidance/teaching/pastoral care for trans people individually in the Church, and for church communities themselves, trying to do the right thing if they have trans people – or, importantly, their families – who come to churches. It seems, predictably and somewhat understandably that the LLF workgroups will be preoccupied by the issues around gay sexuality, but I should love to know what the programme is with regard to trans people and the Church. Is there a working group specifically tasked with addressing trans issues? Does it work to a timeline? Who heads it up?’

    He replied the next day, and I am grateful for his honesty: ‘The short answer is that, since I took on this role, we have been totally absorbed with the PLF and questions of marriage. And as you know, LLF was intended to be about so much more than this…  it is certainly the case that there is no working group on pastoral support for trans people.’

    I appreciated Martyn’s forthrightness, but although he proposed to find out the state of play and get back to me ‘in the next few weeks’, nothing happened.

    It is now nearly summer 2025, and the Working Group on the pastoral guidelines to address the pastoral needs of trans people in church communities remains on hold.

    However, there are growing tensions building up against various previous policies of the Church: for example, on the affirming use of pronouns in church schools. The Department of Education released non-statutory guidance in 2023 which stated: ‘It is expected that there will be very few occasions in which a school or college will be able to agree to a change of pronouns. On these rare occasions, no teacher or pupil should be compelled to use these preferred pronouns.’ That implies a state expectation that ‘birth’ pronouns should normally be used, not ones the student identifies with. That conflicted with the Church’s own 2016 guidance on affirming pronouns a student identifies with.

    In April 2025 the Church of England provided new and updated guidance for church schools addressing bullying (Part B:2.2). It still says schools must challenge discriminatory and dehumanising language and not allow deliberate misnaming. Schools are to avoid causing harm. However, there is ambiguity here in that this new guidance alludes (Footnote 81) to the use of a pronoun with which a child does not identify being potentially harmful. That much maintains the 2016 assertion that this could be seen as a form of bullying, but there is growing political pressure to close down chosen pronouns in most cases.

    At this point, I wrote yet again about the non-appearance of that Working Group that had been proposed four years ago.

    I understand this week, after yet further enquiry, that the LLF team are now passing on the handling of trans issues to Richard Sudworth, the director of the Church’s Faith and Public Life Team. The leads on LLF now tell me (26 April 2025): ‘The challenges we face in capacity and focus on current LLF work remain… in that me and my team are having to place almost our full focus on seeking fuller use of the PLF (alongside appropriate pastoral reassurance). However, I recognise that this is not an adequate situation given the pastoral needs and care for trans people that you rightly remind us of.’

    I appreciate the frankness, and I’ve been offered a meeting which I believe may take place this month. But to be plain, it’s not about me. I would rather follow my secluded life of prayer. However, I feel very badly for young trans people and all those trans people in vulnerable situations. While trans people have been left ‘on ice’ in the outworking of LLF, events in the country have moved on – as we’ve seen with the terrible ‘vilification’ of trans people by media, politicians, and those with antagonistic ideologies. There is urgent need for leadership from the Church because many in the trans population feel in crisis, and face growing hate on the street. The very identity of trans people has been called into question. This will impact Anglican provisions like schools, and will undoubtedly lead to calls from some for changes in official guidelines. I don’t believe gender identity issues can be left in limbo any longer. I know that some trans people I respect prefer to ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ but then the other parties – including some who oppose transition altogether – will push and push. We need re-affirmed guidance and respect for who we are, and that has got to involve a working group at last, if only to home in on advice over pastoral care (which impacts not only trans people but their families, and churches uncertain about how to meet the present developments).

    What is needed is not passive toleration of trans people, but positive leadership and guidelines on welcome, inclusion, and acceptance (just as Synod overwhelmingly affirmed in 2017). How best can trans people be cared for, protected from subversion of their identities and self-worth, and offered space to flourish and open up? Following the way of the Cross, how can we become the whole of who we really are, in Christ?

     

     

     

  • Respecting Trans People, Part 1: A Pause for Kindness?

    by Susannah Clark, a member of the Fellowship of the Love of God who has worked as a Prison Governor in charge of a national centre for sex offenders, as a teacher of teenagers for 25 years and, after transitioning 16 years ago, as a registered nurse

    These are distressing times for people who are trans. They face increased hostility and danger on the streets, because of the way the media has amplified exceptional cases of ‘bad apples’ and associated trans people with predators, framing them as a danger to the public, when in reality the vast majority are decent people just trying to get on with everyday life. Trans women have been portrayed as a threat to cisgender women, when in fact both groups face unwanted male attention and the risk of male violence.

    Ten years ago, the culture wars were less febrile. Most people had started to take a live and let live approach to trans men and women, and many grew to affirm them. There was greater generosity of spirit and proportionality, combined with a realisation that transition for many could lead to better lives.

    However, in the intervening decade we have seen a convergence of very different and contrasting ideological groups, intent on isolating trans people as a class, for a variety of reasons: first there were deeply conservative and fundamentalist religious campaigners for whom transition itself was abhorrent; secondly there was a subsection of feminist activists who campaigned to exclude trans women from areas of life, and to subvert their innate and essential sense of identity; thirdly there were right-wing populists who tried to play on the worst human instincts to identify scapegoats in order to increase support for their politics; fourthly there were more established political parties who started to fear the traction the far right was gaining, and have come to see trans people as politically expendable; and finally – doing huge damage to trans people and treating us like pariahs – there has been media portrayal of trans people as threatening perverts. They have smeared all trans people in the public’s perception and amplified the hatred of the ignorant.

    Kindness and empathy have been so missing from recent discourse.

    Now we have the Supreme Court ruling that, in the context of one Act, the term woman should be understood to mean genital biology at birth. However, assuming that what it means to be female and a woman can be summarised by genitalia alone is a huge simplification. Reducing women to their bits also ignores the complexity of intersex people. The intention of the Supreme Court was to  leave it to elected policy-makers to develop and evolve how, in practical terms, the interests of groups might be protected in a humane and responsible manner. So it does seem to me that Baroness Falkner of the EHRC (Equality and Human Rights Commission), notwithstanding lip-service to the rights and needs of trans people, is running ahead of the game in pressurising public bodies to extend one finding of one law to general and hard-line implementations that exclude trans people, without taking responsibility first for the impact such enforcements may have on already endangered and vulnerable trans people’s lives, and allowing further time for debate and consultation on how to manage these issues with proportionality.

    The taboo of the toilets has been a focal point. Like anyone else, trans people go in, find a cubicle, pee, wash hands, and leave. That’s what people do, because, let’s face it, you really want to spend as little time as possible in a public loo. I have been transitioned for 16 years and I have never once faced any hostility.

    Of course, the argument is that some pervert could go into the public loos, and that might be someone trans; therefore, it is claimed, *no* trans women should be allowed in women’s public toilets. Think about that a moment: men’s public loos, with their open urinals, involve more exposure of genitals, and are there no cisgendered male perverts preying on boys or young men? Are the risks allegedly posed by trans women greater than the much greater number of male perverts molesting boys in men’s toilets? Of course not. Yet we don’t ban every male from those toilets. That would be disproportionate. The whole toilet thing has been weaponised, where it was working event-free for decades before.

    You could extend the exclusionary principle – excluding all members of a class of people because of rare and exceptional bad people – to schools (where I worked for 25 years). Some teachers molest young children. Yet male teachers are routinely allowed to oversee boys getting changed at school. Aren’t they a danger too? Well, the answer is the same as for trans women in loos: no. Or rather, there will always be risk of sex offenders but we don’t pin that risk on everyone else. We could ban all men from teaching but, of course, we don’t. It’s a matter of proportionality, and part of the proportionality needed is a mature, balanced sense of responsibility for minorities and not just the majority: worked out and developed by government, and certainly not rushed headlong into, which is what the Chair of the EHRC seems to want to do.

    And then there is the matter of NHS hospitals… already being pressurised by Baroness Falkner to exclude trans women from women’s wards immediately. After transition I re-trained as a registered nurse and absolutely loved my work. This included medication, preparation for theatre, cleaning up shit and vomit, and yes… intimate care such as washing genitalia and catheterisation. Out of care. Out of kindness and compassion. Many patients (male and female) were appreciative. Not a single woman objected. I would have shown respect if they did, but in 10 years no-one ever did. When you’re sick, you just want to get well.

    Yet now, if I myself fell ill, I would be characterised as a potential ‘threat’ and excluded from a female ward. I was safe before as a nurse (nurses of all genders work in wards for men and wards for women). But in my own vulnerability I would be cast out.

    Up until now there has been ‘live and let live’. We have deployed kindness and generosity of spirit to accommodate all the varieties of people who make up a hospital ward. That principle should apply to society as a whole.

    People talk about ‘the gender ideology’. I’m not an ideology, I’m a person.

    I have described elsewhere my own recovery after gender surgery, in a convent where the loving sisters were there for me, as women caring for a vulnerable woman. The healing continued (to my great joy) and I returned to work – I worked in critical care, and acute care, and in later years with the elderly. And psychologically I flourished, able at last to openly be who I was. At work and at play. It is wonderful when solidarity is extended to trans women by other women, and in my experience many do. They are not all exclusionary ideologues. There is live and let live. And kindness.

    If you have a trans sister or a trans daughter, you might well recognise that they are obviously female. Many friends, neighbours, colleagues who know trans women would too. They know, through personal interaction and goodwill, that these friends have female brains, female manner, female presence. Or, at least, they’re certainly not guys!

    Yet politicians allege we’re not real. We are fake.

    But the opposite is true. We’re fake before transition.

    The cost of ‘performance’ outside your true self can be devastating. But when I transitioned… such a psychological ease came flooding into my life. My life became congruent, and no longer tormented by dysphoria. And after surgery: a sense of wholeness, well-being, and flourishing. Decades of self-harm just disappeared, sad memories of my past. Today my life is so happy, and I’m loved deeply by my precious wife, my children and my friends. But I feel so sad for young trans men and women, and those trans people who are socially vulnerable, or abused by neighbours, or abandoned by society. And that’s why I’m writing this article – out of solidarity – for them.

    For many trans-excluding activists, I fear that the campaign for this particular Supreme Court decision is not their only goal, merely a bridgehead leading to what they hope will be further enforced exclusion. They frame us as the enemies of women.

    It’s as if a trans woman like myself doesn’t care about the protection of all women. I have cared about women all my life. Most trans people do – they care hugely. Many of us have mothers and daughters and wives and sisters who we love and care about. Indeed we have a vested interest ourselves in protection, because trans women know discrimination themselves.

    In the end we can either accommodate each other’s differences with kindness, or we can go down the road of populism, hatred, othering, and the policing of tribal boundaries. It doesn’t have to be that way. Instead of meanness of spirit I think we need: generosity, kindness, responsibility, balance. We should help one another to be the whole and best of who we really are.

    Politicians need to stop courting populism, and find the courage to reject simplicities and recognise the need for proportionality in what follows this one-off ruling. Baroness Falkner may want to go rushing in, but there needs to be much further reflection, nuance, and consultation.

    There is a strong case for pausing on actions to be enforced, until an independent review has recommended how to navigate the need to protect women generally, but also the need to protect trans women before their lives are imperilled, and sort that out, because frankly, that is an urgent responsibility of good government. And yes, of course, the present government may be running scared of losing some votes by sticking its head above the parapets on these issues. Hiding behind the Supreme Court ruling and allowing the EHRC to carry the can, at the immediate expense of trans people, would be a cowardly abandonment of a most vulnerable group in our society.

    But there is a different way: the way of the convent sisters who nursed me and accepted me as a woman, the way of most women I nursed who welcomed my care, and so many women I meet in day-to-day life: not activists with ideological agenda, but human beings willing to treat other human beings with generosity, decency and kindness.

    The sad thing is that I feel like the present campaign to define trans women has been big about sex and genitalia, but the reality is that women are more than their bits. As trans women our biological brains and gestalt identity may also be irrevocably female (in a whole spectrum of different versions). That ‘being a woman’ is at heart something you are, how you know yourself, the heart of your being, and loveliness, and potential. To reduce the definition of a woman only to sex and genitalia is to ignore so much more of what makes a woman who she is. In a way it’s quite insulting. It’s not all about sex. I’m a human being who happens to understand myself as woman at the heart of my being. I’m a threat to no-one, and a gift to those who love me, and we don’t deserve to be excluded, far less to be vilified.

    All of us should care about each other, as we dare to open up, more and more, to the whole of who we are.

     

    *   *   *   *   *

     

    Susannah Clark has written other articles, and advice on the pastoral care of trans people, that can be found here:

    http://transition.org.uk

    https://trans.org.uk

    https://viamedia.news/2024/06/19/the-whole-of-who-we-are/

  • The “Failure of the Church”: Why Waiting is Not Neutral

    by Revd Dr Charlie Bell, Fellow at Girton College Cambridge; Assistant Curate, St John the Divine, Kennington 

    ‘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’.

    So began the motion passed by the General Synod in 2023, in relation to the LLF project. Just look at the state of it now. According to Bishop Martyn Snow, in his recent video, ‘We’re still in the process of working with LGBTQI+ people to look at what that apology really means in practice’. So far, not much.

    I am bored writing about LLF. I am sure you are bored hearing about it. And yet here we are, almost two years on from that motion, and we have moved … effectively nowhere. Yes, some prayers have been commended – which was ‘looked forward to’ in that first motion – and that was a real step forward (although, of course, it really just formalised what was already happening in many parishes). But it happened nearly a year ago now, and although the prayers have been approved as a ‘standalone service’ we are being asked to wait to use them until a ‘registration process’ has been set up. Meanwhile, there have been a love-in residential, endless variations on working groups (with precious little new output), and various half-promises made. Folk wanting some progress for LGBTQIA+ people have given of their time and energy again and again. But in terms of actual change brought about for LGBTQIA+ people, let’s be frank – since that motion, there has been effectively nothing. Zero. Nada.

    This is enough of a disgrace in itself that the endlessly dithering House of Bishops should hang their heads in shame. Yet let’s be absolutely up front and frank here – that is not the half of it. Let’s not pretend: we know that there have been votes amongst the bishops to enable clergy to enter same-sex marriages, and those of us in the process know that Archbishop Justin’s comments on sex being for marriage do indeed reflect the general position of the House and College. Against that background, though, the required withdrawal of the nasty little Issues in Human Sexuality (a withdrawal required, let us remember, all the way back in February 2023), still has not happened – which is completely unacceptable. Similarly, all those in the LLF process know that clergy same-sex marriage is a question of when and not if – such has been said to us by staff, by bishops. The idea it won’t happen is ludicrous – and if that does become the plan, then there is no benefit to dragging it out any longer. Yet still, no decision is made – and we are treated like fools, again, and again, and again.

    Indeed, forty-four bishops called for this decision to be implemented ‘without delay’ in November 2023. Funny definition of ‘without delay’, right, a year on – and with the endless can-kicking, wasted time, and – frankly – wasted vocations.

    Because this isn’t an abstract issue. We have potential ordinands, whose call has been blocked by the absolute impediment that they have fallen in love with someone and have formalised it in law. Similarly, bishops are refusing to license clergy in same-sex marriages, all in the middle of a vocations crisis and the scandal of endlessly overworked clergy. Cases from the Diocese in Europe, where some countries don’t provide the option of civil partnerships, show quite how small-minded, absurd, and nasty this policy is in practice. In some places, bishops are quite inexplicably – and viciously – refusing to license lay people in civil marriages to people of the same sex or gender too. Even Issues in Human Sexuality didn’t go that far.

    So we clergy can pray prayers of blessing for others in such relationships but not enter into them ourselves? Similarly, clergy from other provinces of the Anglican Communion in same-sex marriages cannot minister in the Church of England, but clergy from these provinces who have celebrated such a marriage can? What a load of ecclesiological – and queerphobic – nonsense that is. The whole thing is a rotting ulcer at the heart of our church’s polity – and still, nothing is done. Where is the courage? Where, frankly, is our pastoral heart? How long, O Lord? Why is it that we are so expendable – so worthless – so detested? We asked for bread, were promised a stone – and even that is still withheld.

    The truth is, though, that there has been work done, ‘progress’ on LLF – it’s just that this work has nothing whatsoever to do with LGBTQIA people. LLF is no longer about them – about us. It is about those, a small but rich and powerful minority, who wish to exclude them from parts of church life based on their sexual orientation. It has become yet another tool of the powerful over the vulnerable. Just like Jesus always wanted.

    This is not new. Those who ‘couldn’t accept’ the ordination of women as priests and deacons got a nice pay-off as they swam the Tiber. In today’s arguments over other people using prayers and other people getting married, once again the sole focus has been on those who oppose the majority position. Look back over the reams of papers, debates, and ‘solutions’ suggested for our current predicament – how many of them actually mention, let alone prioritise, LGBTQIA people? Hint: not many.

    Those of us in favour of LGBTQIA inclusion seem to be bending over backwards to ensure those who think we aren’t even Christians should be given absolutely everything they claim they need so that they are not stained by our queerness. Adverts from inclusive churches speak of the need for ‘support’ for those who feel ‘disappointment, discomfort, or distress’ about the use of the Prayers of Love and Faith. While it’s surely good that PCCs are discussing where they stand on their use, and complete honesty about this will help people decide whether a church is for them or not, it’s all very one-sided. Meanwhile, there is precisely nothing about the actual LGBTQIA people about whom this project was supposed to be.

    The entire project has become disproportionate without ever moving anywhere near the ‘radical new inclusion’ promised at the outset. All we are doing now is yielding to threat upon threat from the ‘Alliance’, which has a much louder bark than its bite, and in the process chucking more and more LGTBQIA people onto the pile that says: ‘not important enough’. We appear willing to be agents of injustice to protect the powerful who now claim they are being oppressed. It would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic.

    Christians and their churches are known by how they treat their weakest members. Jesus said something about that somewhere. The Church of England is standing at a precipice where it must decide whether it really wants to be known for creating a system that looks after the privileged, or whether it actually wants to embed and live the apology to LGBTQIA people that it so far only claims to believe in.

    This time of treating LGBTQIA people like collateral chaff cannot continue. If the bishops do not have the courage to permit us to enter into same-sex marriages and continue to live out our vocations – vocations that have been acknowledged and affirmed by the church – then it is time for them to admit that. This includes every serving Church of England bishop – every single one of whom, at present, agrees to implement the 2014 voluntary agreement. Similarly, if they want to continue the nonsense of ‘yes at Evensong, no at a standalone’ when it comes to the Prayers of Love and Faith, so be it. If that is the church they are proud to lead into the future, then they should own it.

    That is, of course, the church they currently lead. Waiting is not neutral – it is ongoing structural violence. Deciding not to decide is a decision – a decision to support ongoing injustice, and to say, through their actions, that we are not worth the hassle of making oneself unpopular with one’s sibling bishops. Neither handwringing nor can-kicking, nor hoping it will all go away, nor endless agonising about how difficult it all is, is a Christian virtue.

    And until a single bishop is willing to name this injustice, and then actually act justly, then they can – frankly – keep their apologies.

  • Can the Church of England be Mature about Love?

    by Revd Canon Neil Patterson, Vice-Dean of Bristol Cathedral and Chair of Together for the Church of England

    As readers are probably aware, a set of liturgical resources known as the Prayers of Love & Faith (PLF) were commended by the House of Bishops for use in the Church of England in December last year and are available here. Whatever the shortcomings of the texts felt by some, these are important as the first official encouragement to pray with same-sex couples for the flourishing of our relationships. Inasmuch as the Church of England’s doctrine is defined by liturgical texts rather than dogmatic statements, they constitute the decisive point on the Living in Love & Faith journey where the Church has acknowledged that same-sex couples exist and are a good thing, even if we are still corporately a bit unsure what sort of thing that is.

    So it was a delight to recently attend a service where the Prayers were used for two friends of ours at a regular service at a cathedral. It was not quite ‘regular’ to the extent that the congregation was swelled by a substantial number of family and friends, close relatives read the lessons, and the music was provided by a superb choir assembled from friends for the occasion. But liturgically, it conformed entirely to the rubrics for the Prayers – it was a joyful service of Evensong, with the couple sitting in ordinary seats with everyone else, and the short prayers for and by them taking place alongside the intercessions towards the end.

    I do still hope for a Church of England in which same-sex marriage in church happens and, in the short term, for  ‘standalone’ services, i.e. for the use of the PLF to be accepted for a free-standing service devised for a particular couple (though it is already unclear how adding hymns, Scripture readings and other prayers – all of them already permitted in other services – to the commended PLF would render them unauthorised). This is especially important if we are to welcome those for whom a regular liturgy like Evensong would be inaccessible, as well as for the practicalities of time and date. But I reflected that the service I attended felt like a more mature Christian celebration of what was happening than many church weddings I took in my parish ministry.

    What I mean is that my friends were not at the beginning of their relationship – they remembered that, as a very new couple, they had attended my own civil partnership in 2017 – and have shared a house for some time. Their own legal partnership was in fact a little while ago, but this was the occasion when they felt ready to celebrate publicly, with family and friends, and to seek God’s blessing for the years ahead, as devout and serious Christians.  And for that the modest prayers, within a service which was chiefly an act of praise to God, seemed thoroughly appropriate.

    But is this not usually the situation for those marrying in church? I can only recall a single wedding I have taken where the couple were not already cohabiting, and that was because the groom was in the RAF and so (as I understood) not provided with married accommodation. And after marriage there is limited change in legal identity – as far as I can tell there is no pressure from  conservative Anglicans to revert to the situation before the Married Women’s Property Acts of 1870 and 1882, when all property was held in common (but controlled by the husband) or before the case of R v. R in 1991 when a wife’s body was held to belong to her husband (following 1 Corinthians 7) and so he was immune from any charge of rape. Yet we still purport to undertake some sort of existential change in a church wedding, taking two ‘single’ people and making them into something else, but I am not sure that we know what.

    Living in Love & Faith has focussed the attention of the Church with painful rigour on those of us in same-sex relationships, scrutinised as never before and now held by some to be responsible for many ills including, apparently, the decline in vocations to ordained ministry.  But I wonder if in fact we may be pointing the way to a more mature, less fairytale, understanding of all committed relationships. There have been official CofE documents on marriage occasioned by accepting the reality of divorce in 1999, or resisting same-sex marriage in 2013, and both are skewed by their contexts.  The LLF book treats it more widely, but evades the messy reality of forming relationships that leads to marriage. Until we can talk about this more honestly, we will have little credibility on the subject at all.

     

  • Where is the Colour? The CEEC Commissioning of Overseers: A Theological and Ecclesiological Critique

    by Revd Dr Augustine Tanner-Ihm, Lead Minister of Saint Nicholas Church, Kingsway, Manchester

    The recent commissioning of overseers by the Church of England Evangelical Council (CEEC) necessitates a critical theological and ecclesiological examination. This decision appears to undermine both the doctrinal foundations of the Church of England and its commitment to inclusivity and diversity. This article will explore the theological implications, the postcolonial context, and the historical and current Church of England stances on diversity, arguing that the CEEC’s actions reflect a troubling trend of white elitism. Regardless of one’s position on the structures that the CEEC has chosen – personally, I disagree with them – the lack of racial awareness remains an important issue.

    Theological Foundations and Ecclesiological Implications

    The doctrine of the Church of England is grounded in the principles of inclusivity, universality, and the imago Dei—the belief that all humans are created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). This foundational doctrine calls the Church to embrace and reflect the diversity of God’s creation. The Apostle Paul’s teaching in Galatians 3:28 underscores this inclusive vision: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

    However, the CEEC’s recent commissioning of exclusively white overseers starkly contradicts these theological tenets. By failing to represent the rich diversity of the global Anglican Communion, the CEEC undermines the universality of the Church and perpetuates a form of ecclesiastical homogeneity that is theologically untenable.

    Postcolonial Critique and the Legacy of Colonialism

    A postcolonial analysis illuminates the CEEC’s recent actions as reminiscent of colonial practices that prioritize white, European leadership while marginalizing non-white voices. The insistence on “orthodox” bishops, purportedly to align with the theological stances of Black, Brown, and Asian Anglicans, is profoundly ironic, given that none of the appointed overseers come from these communities. Instead this practice perpetuates a colonialist framework where theological and ecclesiastical leadership is dominated by white elites, effectively silencing the diverse voices within the Anglican Communion.

    According to the CEEC, these are the first overseers to be commissioned, with more to follow. However, an article in Anglican Ink reveals that those to be commissioned later have already been chosen, a fact that raises concerns about inclusivity and transparency. Despite the presence of a few Global Majority Heritage (GMH) individuals on the CEEC Board of Trustees, this issue seems to have been overlooked. This could be due to a phenomenon some theologians describe as Theological Stockholm Syndrome, where marginalized individuals align with and support their oppressors’ frameworks and structures.

    This critique echoes the sentiment expressed by African American activist and writer Audre Lorde, who famously stated, “For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support” (Lorde, 1984). The trustees appear to have been co-opted by the very tools of colonialism rather than seeking the liberation of others.

    In other words, they have succumbed to a role reminiscent of the “Uncle Tom” figure in African American vernacular, serving the interests of the dominant group at the expense of their communities. This dynamic underscores the urgent need for a truly inclusive and representative ecclesiastical leadership within the Church of England.

    For some time now, evangelical Anglicans – when arguing about unity within the Anglican communion – have used disagreements on LGBTQIA+ inclusion to say the Church of England is ignoring the voices of the so-called “Global South”. It is persons with more of an inclusive/progressive view on sexuality and gender identity who have been called racist or who have been claimed by conservatives to be demonstrating a colonial way of thinking.  Yet the framework that was put together is a farce. As a black man who is gay and evangelical, it saddens me that my siblings in Christ would use such a horrible tactic.

    For instance, as a black American man who can trace my lineage directly to slavery, I feel extremely uncomfortable with the word “overseers”. As many Anglicans would know, overseers were used to keep the enslaved blacks in check, to make sure they would not follow their conscience and be moved by the Spirit for freedom. Overseers were harsh white men from a privileged class that would propagate violence and torture against people that looked like me. Overseers would be the very drivers of enslavement. But if it is claimed that this is simply a word from the Bible, then it is translating episkopos; but that means they are Bishops! Therefore, which one is it?

    Kwok Pui-lan’s postcolonial theological framework critiques the Western-centric dominance in ecclesiastical structures, advocating for a decolonized approach that genuinely incorporates and values the perspectives of Christians from the Global South. The CEEC’s actions, therefore, can be seen as a continuation of colonial patterns of exclusion and control, rather than a move towards true inclusivity and representation.

    Historical and Current Stances on Diversity

    Historically, the Church of England has struggled with issues of racial and cultural inclusion. The Lambeth Conference of 1988 recognized the need for the Church to repent of its complicity in racism and colonialism, calling for greater inclusivity within its structures. More recently, the “Lament to Action” report highlighted the persistent racial inequalities within the Church of England, urging systemic changes to address these injustices.

    Despite these acknowledgements and calls to action, the CEEC’s commissioning of an all-white overseer body demonstrates a significant lapse in the Church’s commitment to these goals. This move not only disregards the recommendations of the “Lament to Action” report but also undermines the Church’s public witness to racial justice and equality.

    White Elitism and Ecclesiastical Purity

    The theological justification for an all-white overseer body under the guise of maintaining orthodoxy is a manifestation of white elitism. This elitism privileges white theological perspectives and leadership, marginalizing the rich theological contributions of Black, Brown, and Asian Anglicans. Such a stance is antithetical to the inclusive vision of the Gospel and the ecclesiological commitment to the catholicity of the Church.

    The Church of England’s commitment to being a national church requires it to reflect the diversity of the nation it serves. The homogeneous composition of the CEEC overseers fails to embody this national and theological mandate, suggesting a retreat into a narrow, exclusionary vision of the Church that is more concerned with preserving white dominance than with embodying the inclusive love of Christ.

    Not Reflecting the Vision of a Younger and More Diverse Church

    Prominent theologian Paul Avis has consistently emphasized the importance of the Church being a community that embodies the diversity and unity of the body of Christ. The Church of England has been striving to be younger and more diverse, a theme central to its mission in contemporary society. This vision aims to ensure that the Church is relevant and reflective of the multifaceted nature of the population it serves, both in England and globally.

    The CEEC’s decision to commission an exclusively white group of overseers starkly contrasts with this goal too. It suggests a failure to engage with and integrate the younger, more diverse demographics that are vital for the Church’s future. The Church of England is attempting to move beyond its historical legacy of exclusion and to foster a community where all are represented and valued. By ignoring the vibrant, diverse voices within the Anglican Communion, the CEEC undermines this essential mission and risks alienating younger generations who seek a Church that is inclusive and representative of all God’s people.

    A Call to Action

    The commissioning of the CEEC overseers must therefore serve as a wake-up call for the Church of England. It is imperative that the Church actively works to dismantle structures of white elitism and to foster a genuinely inclusive leadership that reflects the diversity of the Anglican Communion. This requires not only appointing “overseers” from diverse racial and cultural backgrounds but also engaging in deep, systemic change to ensure that all voices are heard and valued. I disagree with my siblings in Christ, and yes, I call them siblings because even though I strongly disagree, I have love and respect for them as people who are co-heirs with Christ.

    Theological orthodoxy is not about maintaining a narrow, exclusionary vision of the Church. It is about embodying the fullness of the Gospel, which calls us to love, inclusivity, and justice. As we move forward, let us commit to a vision of the Church that truly reflects the diversity of God’s creation and the inclusive nature of the Gospel.

    References:

    1. CEEC Overseers Commissioned in London for the Church of England
    2. Bishop of Oxford Rejects the Alliance’s Call for a Third Province Should LLF be Introduced
    3. “Lament to Action” Report, Church of England, 2021.
    4. Kwok Pui-lan, Postcolonial Imagination and Feminist Theology, Westminster John Knox Press, 2005.
    5. The Lambeth Conference Reports, 1988.
    6. Paul Avis, The Identity of Anglicanism: Essentials of Anglican Ecclesiology, T&T Clark, 2008.
    7. Paul Avis, In Search of Authority: Anglican Theological Method from the Reformation to the Enlightenment, Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014.

     

  • A Heart Transformed by Undeserved Grace

    by Michael Hampson, a published author devoting his early-retirement from parish ministry to producing practical resources for busy clergy and lay-led congregations, beginning with the weekly lectionary resource ssra.uk

    Last week, at Pride, my heart was transformed by undeserved grace. And on this occasion, it wasn’t from God, or fellow Christians, or the church. But it relieved the shame of decades and transformed my heart.

    Until last year, I hadn’t been to Pride since the 1990s. Back then, there were probably fewer than half a dozen in the entire country. I would be at London’s. It was mostly a protest march of angry men, with almost as many police as marchers. The march would be funnelled into a fenced-off field or park, where the stalls would all be campaign groups, and AIDS charities desperately trying to save men’s lives.

    Then last year, after a gap of a quarter century, I followed a small group down the hill after church to join the Lancaster Pride Parade, and I laughed with delight, as the contrast was almost unbelievable. There were all ages present, from babes in arms and pushchairs, to toddlers and children of all ages, to students and young adults, parents, and adults right across the age-range, and generally more women than men. Everything was joy: rainbow party and celebration. And the tallest presence in the parade was a fifteen-foot tall Big Jesus in a rainbow sash, surrounded by Christians at Pride with handmade placards announcing the names of Inclusive Churches and My God Loves Everyone in rainbow colours.

    The only police were managing traffic, to let the parade go past.

    The parade concluded in the historic town square, under Queen Victoria, where there were funfair rides, and food stalls, and musicians and poets and speeches – including a Christian minister – and three thousand people mingled through the afternoon. The small band of Christians at Pride seemed to have a gazebo and a few leaflets with Big Jesus parked outside.

    Another year takes us to last week. I had made contact with Lancaster Christians at Pride, which turns out to be a completely ad hoc group that has a couple of planning meetings and a bit of a scramble by email in the few weeks before Pride, to coordinate the superb work of some heroic individuals to produce what has become – over several years – an increasingly significant presence.

    As the parade concluded, and an afternoon’s duty on the stall lay ahead, I braced myself for an afternoon of well-deserved anti-Christian hostility from the LGBTQ+ crowd. I wasn’t expecting blatant abuse, but I was certainly expecting hostile stares, cold shoulders and dismissive looks – the hints of a well-earned low-level background contempt, after all that we know the churches have hurled at this community over the last forty years and more.

    What followed, across the next several hours, was a genuinely transformative experience of undeserved grace; not (on this occasion) from God, or fellow Christians, or the church, but from the LGBTQ+ community, gathered for Lancaster Pride. They approached Big Jesus and the Prayer Tree and our Christians at Pride gazebo with nothing but utterly undeserved warmth and grace. It was utterly disarming.

    They came for selfies with Big Jesus. They came to hang prayers for the world, and for loved ones. They came to hang heartfelt longings, which are the same as prayers; and wise hard-learned life-lessons, summarised in a few words, which are surely proverbs; and perhaps most movingly, in memoriams to loved ones, which held who-knows-what life-stories, in a moment of profound reflection, at this little holy shrine, on this big pounding party-day.

    I was braced for the shame of being Christian in the LGBTQ+ community – for the church absolutely deserves the hatred of that community for all that it has done, and continues to do. And all that I experienced yesterday from that community was undeserved grace. That undeserved grace relieved the shame of decades, and transformed my heart. That little holy shrine became a grace exchange. They brought in grace, and soon I had grace to share. I listened as people told their stories. I coaxed the cautious with gifts, which had seemed so pointless earlier in the day: “Everything is free! Free cake! Free prayers! The rainbow crosses were made here in Lancaster by the needleworkers at the Priory!” Suddenly everything made sense – in the light of grace received, grace upon grace. We had built a holy shrine in the city square, and the people brought in their gifts of holy grace to share.

    Some people only go to church once a year. This was our little holy shrine in the middle of Pride – their once-a-year church – and the prayers and the occasional conversations were profound. We’ll build it again next year. The rest of the church may still be squabbling, an unholy wreck, somewhere off-stage. But God is love and grace, active and fully alive amongst the ordinary people.

  • Lovingly Hated

    By Anon., on behalf of the Oxford Safe Churches team

     

    The summer after my first year at university I listened to hours of sermons telling me I was going to hell.

    I was already painfully familiar with these words and hearing them from an Oxford church was by no means surprising. As is often the case, these accusations of ‘sexual immorality’ and ‘going against God’s will’ came from a church with a greeting sign at its doors: ‘All are welcome’.

    Lovingly hated. That’s how I like to refer to it. The way some of these “Christians” so completely oppose my queer identity and relationships. Yet, in the same breath, they will tell me I am loved and considered worthy by the same God they believe would send me to hell. Unless of course I renounce every aspect of this ‘deviant identity’ and mould my innermost being to fit into their idea of acceptable behaviour.

    Conversation therapy happens all the time in churches. It’s not always a dramatic exorcism, sometimes it’s disguised as ‘meeting for coffee’. And then the people you look up to and respect will reveal what they’ve believed from the very beginning: that there is no space for queer identity in their view of Christianity. That you need to renounce this  ‘same-sex attraction’ or, if you can’t, be forced to pursue a life of celibacy.

    The worst part about being judged and shamed by churches, is that it can happen when you least expect it. From the same people who drew you in with their free dinners and flashy events; in the same places you once felt safe and seen. You can be torn apart at a moment’s notice. This only happens because churches intentionally hide what they believe about LGBTQ+ identity and relationships in order to draw people in.

    “Okay, we get it, some churches don’t accept you… but why are you so focused on them? Can’t you just move on to other places?” I wish I could just move on, but no.  Firstly, their words and actions cut deep. Secondly, moving on leaves no trace of what these places actually believe and practice behind closed doors. Each year, freshers are sucked into churches that ‘welcome’ them and leave them vulnerable to spiritual abuse. Out of concern, because I would never want anyone to go through what I’ve seen happen to others, I felt an obligation to make everything public.

    Hence, I put in hours of work over my summer ‘break’ listening to those sermons over and over again. Each damnation was transcribed and carefully put together in a report to prove that certain Oxford churches are not in fact ‘loving and welcome to all’. But that this love has conditions. Even though it’s excruciatingly obvious to anyone who even remotely looks, or loves, like I do, I had to prove this was happening. I had to show freshers which churches could be seen as safe, and which have hidden beliefs to be wary of.

    Oxford Safe Churches. Pages and pages of testimonies, research, affiliations, references, sermons, and anything else that gives any indication of what an Oxford church believes about LGBTQ+ identity and relationships. There was a lot to put in that report. And it was awful.

    And what was the response from our Bishop of Oxford? The same Bishop so celebrated for his support of same-sex marriage in the Church of England in his 2022 booklet, Together in Love and Faith. Silence. Even the slightest acknowledgement of what we wrote would have been enough to know we have someone on our side. Yet, in the light of everything we reported, all the horrible testimonies, there was no response.

    In fact, in that booklet, the last we heard from Bishop Steven, he insists we don’t ‘assign blame to individual clergy or churches’ and should avoid the ‘emotive language of abuse’. But how can we possibly move past the shame and trauma that LGBTQ+ people have felt in the church without acknowledging it for what it is? The Oxford Safe Churches Project has now written to him. Clergy and churches who are responsible for spiritual abuse have the responsibility to repent of that. To take accountability and be transparent about what they believe. If not, it seems the Church of England cares more about protecting its image than protecting vulnerable people.

  • Between Meaning and Despair: A Generous Faith

    by Canon Giles Goddard, Vicar of St John’s, Waterloo

    Extracts from Generous Faith: to be published on 28 June 2024

    Advent is the dawn of the Christian year. A season of light, starting four weeks before Christmas, not long after the clocks have gone back and the nights have drawn in. That first Advent, a dark November in 2009, I was trying to get used to the space. To find the light in the murky gloom. We held services and sang Advent carols: ‘Christ, be our light, shine in our hearts, shine in the darkness’. There was an Advent wreath that had four candles, three purple, one pink, and one in the centre, white. It was placed on a little table by the High Altar, and we lit one candle every week to symbolise the weeks before the arrival of the Christ Child.

    When I go down to the river I watch the waters running to the sea and the cormorants perched on pleasure cruisers, their wings stretched out to dry, looking like crucifixes. I wonder what Wordsworth would think if he was transplanted today to Westminster Bridge. Waterloo and the South Bank, a mile from the Square Mile, inundated by the tidal surge of consumption. The rush of rush hour, crowds crossing Waterloo Bridge in the twilight, I had not thought greed had undone so many, the alienation, the loneliness.

    Between the early 1980s and the turn of the century the churchyard was part of Cardboard City, a temporary home for people without homes: tents were head to head across the grass, fires at night flickered on the gold mosaic on the side of the church:

    ALL MAY HAVE IF THEY DARE TRY A GLORIOUS LIFE OR GRAVE

    Developers now buy and sell land at millions of pounds per acre and wrestle with residents and councillors to produce yet another tower to overtop the forest already crowding around us. Bus drivers press the secret combination to use the special bus drivers’ toilets. Street drinkers piss behind the tombs.

    At an early meeting of the Church Council, packed into a meeting room of the hostel next door as we had no rooms in the church, I asked them about their hopes and dreams.

    ‘What’s your vision for the future? What do you think this church should be?’

    There was a silence.

    ‘We’re a friendly church,’ said Holly eventually. ‘You know that, darling, don’t you.’

    ‘Indeed you are,’ I said. ‘But what else are you? What kind of message do you want us to offer? What do you want people to find when they come to us?’

    A silence.

    ‘Not sure,’ said Elaine. ‘We’re doing OK, aren’t we?’

    ‘Is that all we can hope for?’ I asked. ‘Is that why we’re here?’

    When the Bishop granted me my licence as Priest in Charge of the parish, I thought I knew what my task was: to produce results. To renew the church and to reduce the suffering of people in need. But I had a deep fear that it would all turn out to be a waste of time and energy. There were many times when I went into church and felt that for all the work and effort and imagination and dreaming, nothing really changed. The congregation remained fragile and diminutive and their painful insecurity seemed close to the surface and unassuageable.

    It felt as though I was locked in a battle between meaning and despair, between love and hate. A cosmic battle between God and the Devil and a personal battle with the demons whose especial task was to undermine me. It seemed to be a battle against shape-shifting enemies. The inertia and destructiveness of tradition. The insidious and overwhelming power of class, race and privilege. The muddied hopelessness that I saw so often in the faces of people I spoke to – drinkers ground down in the churchyard with their brittle laughter, people who appeared in church who had been struggling for most of their lives with abuse or addiction. The stolidness of the buildings I had inherited, which defiantly resisted the work of the spirit. I remembered the words of the prophet Isaiah:

    A voice says, ‘Cry out!’

    And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’

    All people are grass,

    their constancy is like the flower of the field.

    The grass withers, the flower fades,

    when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;

    surely the people are grass. (Isa. 40.6)

    St John’s is built on the tidal plane at the heart of London, only protected from flooding by the Thames Barrier. Sea level rises will put this part of the city at risk; salt water could quickly inundate these streets that have been reclaimed from tidal mud. The threat of global disruption is increasing and the fragility of the city is becoming more and more apparent. What seems lasting is fleeting. We are here for a moment and then we are gone.

    I am part of an institution that has a history going back nearly five hundred years, since Henry VIII promulgated the Act of Succession in 1534. A history of dark and light, times of oppression and times of transformation, an arm of the state at times and at others a critical friend. Notorious, now, as an institution that fails to welcome marginal groups and is still a long way from being fully inclusive and affirming.

    I became the priest of a church that has been here for nearly two hundred years, and, climate change permitting, could be here for another two hundred. Sometimes I wondered what I could do to help it last so long – and at other times I wondered whether it even deserved to survive.

    I soon began to understand that people washed up at St John’s with a suitcase-full of reasons. Some came to use the loos that nestled in the vestry by the High Altar. Some came because they were passing and wanted to nip in to say a prayer – often they were young and from a Catholic country where popping into church is more commonplace. Some came to see the building and to check out the architecture or the gaunt picture of the crucified Christ above the altar. Many came because they were musicians, playing in orchestras or singing in choirs.

    Some came to find what they could, seeking a way to heal their pain, to deal with the damage of their early lives – or damage from their treatment by the churches they had grown up in – or because they had fallen out with God but could not silence the whisper of the Divine in their hearts.

    People came to pray and sing and eat morsels of unleavened bread, they came with an ache acknowledged or unacknowledged, they came with hunger, sometimes hunger unknown, they came to seek, they came in fear, they came in hope.

    They asked me questions about faith and God. I was often unsure how to answer. Was I flawed or fraud? Or both? The quietly benevolent façade I presented felt like a stage set, all columns and pediments and reliability and niceness. It was hard to know where the public merged into the private. I listened to the questions and a big part of me wanted to cry: ‘Please don’t trust me, it’s not worth the risk, I am acting a part that the institution demands of me.’

    I was already aware of one problem with being the vicar: often when I tried to be of help, the boundaries I tried to set were pushed and pushed until I had to call a halt, so my original intentions were undermined and I felt worse than useless.

    The Church of England felt like an unsafe world where I was accepted only conditionally, on sufferance. The self I had constructed over many years from earliest childhood felt tenuous, a uniform, a product I had developed so I could do the work I thought I had to do. There were times when it felt as though the whole thing was about to collapse, when even my presence at St John’s was under threat.

    I had an atavistic fear of being found out. Impostor syndrome? Perhaps. The fear that the curtain would be drawn back and everyone would see the little old man working the machinery. The self I presented to the church and the world was as the good gay, the honest broker, the safe pair of hands. I tried to hide the toxic bifurcation between public and secret which stirred and bubbled beneath the surface. I was not always successful.

     

  • The Whole of Who We Are

    by Susannah Clark; she belongs to the Fellowship of the Love of God (Oxford)

    It was Augustine who wrote ‘You were within me, but I was outside’.

    How many people find themselves living, at least in part, outside themselves: performing to colleagues to fit in and meet their approval; or conforming with others around us – at work or at church – to feel part of the group and accepted? Even sadder, when we lose contact with ourselves. You may know the feeling, when you work and work, until you finally stop and ask, ‘Yes, but where am I in all this? In the life I lead?’ and you feel out of touch with yourself.

    We so easily do this to ourselves, and drift away from who we really are, uniquely made and cherished by God. We can feel fragmented, with countless loose ends, but haunted by a kind of inauthenticity. ‘How are you, Susannah?’ ‘Oh I’m fine,’ when you’re not. In our ‘outside’ lives when we’re fronting up ourselves to others like that, it is all too easy to become alienated from the God who dwells within us, always longing and calling us to get back in touch, to open and grow… to resume the journey and vocation to become the whole of who we are.

    In the Carmelite practice of contemplation, that re-connecting with the God who knows and loves us is called ‘recollection’… collecting yourself together again, and recalling the core reality of who we are in relationship with God… God who knows us tenderly, calls us into our being and becoming, loves us to the point of no turning back… and beckons us to know ourselves in opening up and devotion of our souls.

    That opening up can be – oh – so raw, and we may well fear it: because so many of us have closed doors in our souls that we’d rather not open… old hurts, old shames, and the anxiety of what it might cost if we do: what we might unleash! And yet, there is a gentleness and healing in the love of God, and opening up to the flow of God’s love is the beginning of becoming. It’s opening up, often in trembling steps, to the whole of who we are. Most of us know on paper that love is the great commandment, the first imperative, if we are to give ourselves to God and be authentic. But truly opening up means more than just being loved.

    The flow of God’s love in our being and lives is like a stream of compassion: as Jesus described it, streams of living water that would flow from within us. It is not simply a static pool that we can wallow in for our own enjoyment alone. Yes, God does water our soul like a garden, and wants us to receive and to flourish. But the fulfilment of our being is more than self alone. The Love of God is a flowing stream, the Spirit of God, longing to reach through us to others… because that’s what love does: it flows and enlivens us in the act of opening up our hearts to others round about us. When we give ourselves like that, as channels of mercy, we start to know the best of who we are. We recollect and encounter the authenticity we can have in God.

    For decades I self-harmed, and ‘who’ people saw did not match who I was, how I felt, inside. I policed and defended and locked down that person for fear of discovery. I tried to project and act out a congruent manhood to meet their expectations and presuppositions, and yet… how I was inside my ‘gestalt’, what I felt, how I longed to become, was painfully incongruent with my physical body. So I tried to shut all the doors, put my integral person in a box, tape down the lid, and hide it away. But repression can be like a dam that increases and increases in pressure, until it erupts in negative ways: in my case in terrible self-harm. That was the cost of ‘performance’ outside my true self. Not waving but drowning.

    Then sometimes the dam finally breaks – I’m not just talking about trans experience, it happens to many people. In my own case I think it broke because I ached for God so much. I ached to be true. And once the dam was broken I could not put it all back. I transitioned. It was not a casual ‘life style choice’. I lost friends who ghosted me. I was told by my employers that I must leave. I lost my home. For a while I even lost my children. People at my church told me I was wrecking my life. And yet, God did not abandon me. On the contrary, I felt held and comforted and spiritually alive. I commenced hormones, and within weeks the self-harm of decades just ceased. I underwent surgery. An amazing Anglican community of sisters (in fact the community that was later featured in ‘Call the Midwife’) took me in, loved me, and nursed me for ten weeks after surgery. ‘Yours is just like ours’ they gently assured me as they tended the wounds. Christian inclusion.

    My contemplative life deepened and came alive, and I was guided and helped by another Anglican community: the Sisters of the Love of God in Oxford. They were wonderful, and encouraged me along my contemplative path. I learnt the practice of trust in the God who is there, even through the cloud of unknowing. I dared to open doors long closed, I confronted myself, I opened my being to God. My life became congruent and no longer racked by dysphoria. Instead… deep psychological ease and a more practical, productive day-to-day, week-to-week journey. It has now been fifteen years. I re-trained as a nurse, and it was the best thing I could have done: in looking outwards to others I found myself healed from within. My life – and the journey to become the whole of who I am – expanded, opened up, found release in little practical acts on the hospital wards. Contemplative life is not just internal: it permeates and colonises our practical lives as well.

    Friends at church had warned, ‘It will end badly’ and some Christians still say ‘Transition is wrong. It’s against the will of God.’ They call my vagina a ‘mutilation’ and my womanhood a fake. Politicians and sadly some Christians go further, politicising my quiet life and who I am, and framing people like me as ‘threats’ and ‘predators’. It is hurtful and in some cases hateful. They talk about an ‘ideology’ but in truth they have an ideology themselves. Their language endangers trans lives on the street, massaging the ‘culture wars rhetoric’ and providing a kind of mandate for hatred in the eyes and sick minds of those who spit, or threaten, or shout abuse: ‘you’re a pervert and a bloke in a frock’. It is sad and a bit shameful, weaponising who we are for political gain. In truth, for most trans people our lives are as mundane as anyone else’s: getting up, going to work, shopping, washing, ironing, making supper. It’s the same ‘lifestyle’ as yours I am sure: it’s called being a human being.

    My children – all three are committed Christians – have returned to love me tenderly. I am so proud of them and their devoted lives. I’m not jubilant about the impact on them and others, but we are loving and close now, which I find really humbling. One of my last jobs before retirement in 2022 was as a school nurse caring for 1200 teenagers in a large secondary. There I witnessed – but did not proselytise – four trans teenagers who were trying to explore the whole of who they were. The school had a great ethos: to afford them time, space, and respect. The same respect given to young gay or lesbian teens there. They, and all the students, would come to me for care, for cuts, inhalers, migraines, allergic reactions, or sometimes just to talk. And within the first week, I was just ‘the nurse’. Teens are great like that.

    It’s not just individuals though, is it? It’s not only about me, me, me. I’m incredibly insignificant in the great scheme of things. Thank goodness. The whole point about transition is just to get on with your life, only with greater psychological ease, more congruity, more in touch with who you are and can become. It’s the same for the Church as a whole: the call of God to open up to the whole of who we are and can become. Not excluding people, or insisting everyone conforms to a single dominant dogma, but learning that when a church welcomes the neuro-diverse, the foreigner, the gay, the bi-, the disabled, the trans, the precious individual beset with mental health issues… every one of them has been uniquely created by God and brings gift to God’s community… which would be impoverished without them.

    Yes, as a Church, we should pray that in opening up to the flow of God’s love we open more and more to the whole of who we are.

     

     

  • PRIDE: More than Sparkling Spandex

    by the Very Revd David Monteith, Dean of Canterbury

    In 2009 Barack Obama sealed June as ‘Pride Month’.  These events are now as common across the UK as apple fayres or carnivals of Olde. PRIDE is mainstream. The elements of protest and political rally have gone in favour of community celebration – perhaps still with a little more edginess and ostrich feathers than your average festival.

    The badge is still the rainbow PRIDE flag with its origins in the stories of San Francisco gay liberation. The flag provokes strong reactions. Some people of faith remind us that pride is a deadly sin as if LGBTQIA+ people have more monopoly on that than others.

    I grew up in N. Ireland in a flag culture. Flags united and divided communities. They added colour to life and made visible in the public arena the aspirations which people held privately. Working in cathedrals has taught me a lot about flags used in services as banners of identity. The ultimate intensity of these symbols is the Military Standard (not technically flags) which carry the weight of full regimental identity. Some call them sacramental. PRIDE and the PRIDE flag carry intense meanings which allow many to rally around and others to oppose.

    A colleague here displays a Progress Pride flag on their office window out onto our Precincts. We get periodic complaints about this suggesting it is discriminatory, inappropriate and that we are supporting the ‘gay agenda’. Often complaints are intemperate. We’ve had individuals storming into the office requiring us to remove the flag with diatribes of anti-LGBTQIA+ venom.

    Much has changed since I attended my first PRIDE in the 1980s.  LGBTQIA+ equality is no longer a minority concern. Laws, institutions and families are more inclusive. However, I also see that not far under the surface remain fears and hates which bubble up.

    My partner and I walked along a beach with the dog, holding hands, whilst a group sniggered, offered low-level abuse and the derogatory names. I sit on a train in civvies going up and down to London and I hear prejudicial hate-filled talk about LGBTQIA+ people. We’ve sat in curry houses with groups of tertiary level students being horrible. I’ve had reports of people who will not come to worship if I am preaching. I sit in meetings where LGBTQIA+ people are tolerated.  How often have I visited a parish having to explain I do not have a wife but a civil partner and then – stony silence.

    These experiences, whether verbal abuse or that chilly atmosphere or that silence, still provoke anxiety in me as to what hurt might happen next. Hate crime remains under-reported by LGBTQIA+ people yet it is still rising despite all the protections in a more inclusive society.

    We still need PRIDE even just as a community festival. It makes us visible. Despite footballers or celebrities, visibility is still an issue. PRIDE insists that it is possible to be an inclusive community where the needs and rights of everyone do not diminish the needs and rights of others. A PRIDE rainbow flag flown on town halls, hospitals and fire stations, schools and even some places of worship says ‘we are here’, ‘you are welcome’ and ‘there is still work to do’.

    Social media and politics remind us that lurking not far under the surface are views and emotions for harm rather than for good. No amount of training or education seems to really deal with this sea of dystopian sludgy sin. We now know from brain analysis that our ancient (sometimes described as monkey) brains have signals that travel much faster than other brain signals. These trigger flight, fight and fear responses long before more reasoned responses. This brain is much less malleable than the rest of the brain which is much more able to learn from experience.  This old brain is the hardest place for grace and redemption to reach. Many prejudices emanate from such visceral instincts. This does not justify such prejudices but it means that addressing them is a life’s work.

    As LGBTQIA+ people we too make this painful journey – we are still learning what ‘generous Christian inclusion’ fully means in us rather than listening to the prejudice that can rise in our own hearts and minds as well as with others. This is a spiritual and psychological locus which makes for shame that impacts negatively our self-esteem. Of course, for Christians our safe identity is in Jesus Christ as children of God. There is security from that belonging when ‘sticks and stones’ have sought to do us harm. However, if in church or family or community our sense of genuine inclusion is not reinforced but instead questioned, rejected or filtered through visceral prejudice, then our ability to live out the good news of our identity in Christ is hampered. PRIDE is a counter-balance to the undermining pressures we still too often experience.

    It’s great that many PRIDE celebrations include ‘Christians at PRIDE’ groups made up of LGBTQIA+ people and allies. However, can we imagine most local churches present at PRIDE, generously inviting people to the gospel and life amidst the rainbow people of God, protecting those still harmed by hateful words and actions?

    We’d need a church which is genuinely safe enough with the ability to nurture everyone and address the fears that rise from our prejudicial depths. Even as the glitter and the glamour of PRIDE cheers us to a smile, these celebrations remind the church that there is a very long road still to travel.