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Category: Coronavirus

  • We May be Winning the Fight Against the Virus, but We Risk Losing Something Else…

    by the Right Revd Dame Sarah Mullally, Bishop of London

    It has been a long year. So many of us have suffered, whether through loss of those we love, loss of financial stability, loss of the freedom to see our family and friends, loss of freedom of movement or loss of our mental, physical and spiritual wellbeing. One way or another, we are all reeling from the sense that much has been removed from us. And this cannot help but raise questions of meaning, identity and belonging.

    In the midst of all this loss, it has been my observation that we are in danger of losing something else: the way that we relate to one another seems to be deteriorating.

    In particular, we have seen a rise in binary narratives.  One of the implications of this is that by definition you are either on the “right side” of the argument or the “wrong side.” The belief that I am right, and you are wrong, can so easily slide into being “I am good and you are bad.” From here, it is a short step to hate speech and violent isolation of those who hold different views.

    Perhaps it’s no surprise that, in this kind of climate, we hunker down with our own and, in consolidating our sense of belonging within our own communities – of whatever kind – we differentiate ourselves from others, setting ourselves apart. The Church is not exempt. We can use language which not everyone may understand. We have sometimes been quick to form different Christian tribes.  We have too often shut our doors to those we should have flung them open to. And as we do, we draw explicit and implicit categories which indicate who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’.

    Our challenge in this time is not to pretend that we are all alike. We clearly are not. But to recognise, and hopefully learn in some small way to overcome, our intrinsic nature which pushes away others and tries to carve out territory only for ourselves and to see our circumstances in the wider context of God.

    Digging Deeper

    Maybe the biggest reason for wanting to hunker down with our own is fear.

    I have reflected over the last few months since the publication of Living in Love and Faith that fear is the emotion that can hold the biggest risk in preventing us from listening to each other.

    I wonder what it is that we fear because of the process?  We may fear not being listened to, we may fear being marginalised, we may fear being misunderstood, we may fear for the future of the Church of England; we may fear abuse or bullying. And our flight or fight response can so easily turn to getting in our pre-emptive attack, as a form of defence, before we are attacked.

    Defence can look like denial – as Eli did with his wicked sons (1 Sam 2:22-25). In the end though it proves temporary and only makes matters worse.  It can also look like flight – as Hagar was forced to do from Sarai (Gen 16:6-8), but again fails to resolve the real issues.

    On the other hand, attack can look like assault – gossip, slander and efforts to damage people’s reputation as some did towards Stephen in the early church (Acts 6:8-15). Too often, this is precisely what we see on Twitter. It seems to increasingly be the default option and has led to a culture where it is deemed acceptable to publicly shame people, irrespective of the facts.

    Neither defence or attack leads to reconciliation or peace.  Defence pretends that there is peace when there isn’t, attack gives up on peace for the sake of getting what they want.

    The Bible pushes us in a different direction. Before running away in defence or lashing out in attack, it urges us to look within. It warns us that often conflict grows out of our sinful desires to have things our own way (James 4:1-2). Many conflicts would be far more quickly resolved if we were prepared to take the log out of our own eye before trying to take the speck out of somebody else’s (Luke 6:42).

    Pursuing Peace

    Despite the gravity of these words, they also mean that conflict is an opportunity – an opportunity to act in a counter-cultural way which reflects the love of God and brings God glory. A way that leads to peace. Paul writes to the church in Corinth, mired in religious, legal and dietary disputes and says:

    “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. Do not cause anyone to stumble, whether Jews, Greeks or the church of God—even as I try to please everybody in every way. For I am not seeking my own good but the good of many, so that they may be saved. Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ. 1 Cor 10:31-11:1”

    In other words, see conflict as an opportunity to glorify God by pursuing peace. This is a God who calls us to trust that His ways really are best (Prov 3:5-7), to serve others by putting their interests ahead of your own in love and mercy (Luke 6:27-28, 36) and to grow like Christ who not only said “love your enemies” (Luke 6:27-36) but loved us to the point of death (Luke 22:41-44).

    This does not come naturally. It requires brave people to step outside of the cultural norm and behave differently. People who are prepared to do the slow hard work of reconciliation where it is necessary. To head into difficult conversations with a humble, loving and hopeful heart. To walk the careful, slow, and sometimes painful path towards peace.

    Wouldn’t it be a breath of fresh air – if the tone of our debates focussed less on showing people how right we are but on how to care for those most vulnerable, those most likely to be hurt?

    Wouldn’t it be great if we could hold what is considered a minority opinion without being ridiculed or vilified as a traitor or troublemaker?

    Wouldn’t it bring great glory to God if we could avoid a culture in which we demonise each other for dissent?

    Wouldn’t it be a powerful witness to a watching world if we allowed each other the safe space we need for all views to be expressed and discussed in an atmosphere of compassion and respect?

    But as we gulp at the challenge, remember that we have a great ambassador who went before us. Jesus was stripped naked, mocked and shamed in a way so brutally humiliating, that Western art has shied away from depicting it. He endured more public shame than any of us ever will. He did it to welcome us into a community where boasting was ruled out, servants were now served and outcasts became children, where the status that he gave us mattered far more than the status we had on social media. He did it to transform us into people who count outward fame as rubbish, compared with gaining Him (Phil 3:4-9).

    For it is within Him that we find the answers to the questions of meaning, identity and belonging.

  • Pandemics, Parishes & the ‘National Church’

    by Revd Professor Robert Gilbert, Biochemistry Fellow at Magdalen College, Oxford and Anglican parish priest 

    It’s a whole Church year since congregations first stopped worshipping together in person. A whole Church year since those who could, moved online. And although in the Summer months in person worship was able to resume, it obviously wasn’t the same as it had been before. Congregations remained distanced and could not sing, and were small in number because that is what safety required.

    Since last March the widespread delivery of services over the internet has enabled those able to get online to join in worship provided within their parishes, and also to sample ministry on offer from elsewhere. Diocesan and national provision of online worship has played a significant role too, especially where parishes lack the resources or opportunity themselves; along with continuing radio and TV broadcasts like the BBC’s Sunday Worship and Songs of Praise.

    In the parish where I serve, our recorded online audio services have gone out via our website but also on the local Hospital Radio. This has been a brilliant collaboration and one which has enhanced for us the sense that an online presence is a real presence, and that people kept apart from loved ones, by sickness and by the requirements of social distancing, can and are being reached with words of encouragement and comfort and a reminder that there is a Body of Christ to which they belong.

    The experience of the past year has, for me, underscored the prime importance of the delivery of ministry through parishes and chaplaincies. Parishes and chaplaincies provide context and relatability, and not only when worship in a church building or together within a community is possible. Online or broadcast worship is always from somewhere in particular, and it matters to those who tune in where it is coming from. Parishes also provide a locus for social action, and for engagement with and strengthening of the general community, believing and not.

    The signs are that this is understood by church leaders. In a recent Spectator article, the archbishops of Canterbury and York wrote how “[t]he aim is to make each parish and each Christian community sustainable”. “If that doesn’t happen,” they said, “there really will be no Church of England.” At the recent General Synod the Archbishop of York spoke of a vision for “a simpler, humbler, bolder Church”.

    During the first national lockdown in particular I had a sense of the priesthood of all believers being realised in a new kind of way. The need for every person to worship from where they were didn’t seem to weaken, I thought, belief in a Body to which we all belong, but strengthened it. It was, in practical terms, an experience of a simpler, humbler, bolder church. As the Church plans for the future the focus should be on empowering, resourcing and enabling parishes and members of congregations. The routes for achieving this will include diverse forms of ministry, ordained and not, that provide real presence for local communities. In their Spectator article the archbishops spoke of the biggest rise in lay and ordained vocations for 25 years – and this should be combined with a much enhanced sense of the equality of all believers and those who minister to them.

    Speaking of equality, it will be healthy for a simpler, humbler, bolder Church to move towards a situation in which the holders of diocesan posts also hold parish appointments. It is not unknown for archdeacons to be incumbents too; there is no reason why we can’t reimagine such roles as always involving parochial ministry, or why we can’t move towards a situation in which if a diocese is in need of a suffragan bishop then they are an incumbent or hold another kind of parish role as well. This could be complemented by a redistribution of responsibilities among those who are ordained and those who aren’t, thus freeing up time for localised as well as oversight ministry. Increases in centralised posts and diocesan provision can give a helpful sense of things being done, and suggest a reassuring management structure. But, as the archbishops have indicated, the Church of England delivers primarily at parish and chaplaincy level. Resources need to be concentrated in parishes and chaplaincies, so their differing needs can be understood, and because those are the places from which growth will come and where vocations are nurtured.

    A national Church is needed to enable a continuous network of parishes, but it can do so lightly. The Church of England’s standing in this country has been profoundly damaged, over several centuries, by ways in which it has taken on the role of one powerful organisation among others. Hence the need now for renewed simplicity, humility and courage. Our existence as a relevant national organisation, as an organisation with a prophetic and pastoral role, is dependent on the continuing vitality and resourcing of a system of parishes and chaplaincies as the main activity in which the Church of England is engaged.

     

  • International Women’s Day – Choose to Challenge

    by the Rt Revd Rachel Treweek, Bishop of Gloucester

    In 2019, on a visit to the Holy Land I visited the church in Magdala and found myself faced with an enormous and extraordinary modern painting by Daniel Cariola depicting larger-than-life sandaled feet which are those of Jesus Christ and those around him. There is also the hand of a woman stretched out so that it is just touching the hem of Jesus’ robes, and at the point of connection there is a vibrant, almost electric, circle of light. As I recall that picture now, it is not only deeply poignant as we live a time when close proximity and touch are things many people long for, but it also seems pertinent this week as we mark International Women’s Day (IWD) with the theme ‘Choose to Challenge’.

    We have had a bucketful of challenges over this past year and little of it has been of our choosing. Yet I am also aware that even when there is not a viral pandemic, for many people across our world there is continual and overwhelming challenge, not least for many girls and women. Not much of their challenge is chosen, good or life-giving – unlike the sort of challenge which is the focus of IWD.

    The hand in the Cariola painting is that of the woman who had been suffering for 12 years from a continuous flow of blood.  She knew much about isolation, trauma, and loss, not due to a viral pandemic but due to her gynaecological condition. I suspect her mental health was affected as well as her physical health.

    As the woman touches Jesus, he feels power go out of him and he voices a challenge, ‘who touched me?’. The question would have sounded absurd to Christ’s disciples given they were being jostled by a crowd, but it could also be heard as critical and disapproving. Yet I wonder if it was more about ‘choosing to challenge’ in order to make this woman visible, such that the ‘who’ in his question was inviting the woman to be revealed as someone with a unique identity and story. Here is a woman who has been hidden, rendered irrelevant and even stigmatised, and now she is about to be deeply noticed as a significant and loved individual.

    The gospel writers, as is so often the case where women are concerned, refer to her simply as a woman (unlike the men named by Mark and Luke in their chapters recounting this incident). We will never know if Jesus actually used her name in the moments of their encounter, but he does call her ‘daughter’, reflecting value and intimacy in relationship.

    It is this challenge to notice and recognise that the Church is called to join in with wherever people are hidden, stigmatised, labelled, or condemned as ‘other’, not only as we live a viral pandemic but as we emerge from it and shape the future we want to see.

    Yet there is another challenge in that circle of light, and it is that of the woman herself. Amid her desperation, isolation, and pain, she shows great courage in acknowledging her need and taking a decision to reach out.

    In my recent book ‘Encounters’ (which has Cariola’s painting on the cover), I reflect on this gospel story in the context of women in prison. It is not easy for those women to reach out for help, yet rehabilitation and restoration are not possible until that moment comes.  Indeed, it requires a woman’s story to be heard and her trauma to be recognised.

    This week as the Domestic Abuse Bill reaches Report Stage in the House of Lords many of our proposed amendments and challenges to the government are endeavouring to recognise the people who are powerless to challenge and remain hidden, most of whom are women, but not exclusively so.

    I am acutely aware that whenever one speaks out specifically for women and girls there is nearly always a backlash from people who want to critically point out that boys and men should not be left out. I agree. Yet, I also want to say that sometimes we need to shine a light more strongly in particular areas to change a pervasive culture which has been perpetuated down the centuries. And working for that kingdom-of-God-shaped shalom means sometimes unashamedly choosing to shine the spotlight on women in order to bring challenge so that their potential and equality can be recognised and fanned into flame.

    It is all part of the bigger picture in which we need to choose to challenge injustice, inequality, and discrimination, not least when it comes to disability, sexuality, background and colour.  At the same time,  we must never forget of course that the category ‘women and girls’ is of a different shape –  as all of those other listed categories of ‘difference’ include women, girls, men, and boys.

    As we mark IWD this year I hope that we might all be challenged about how we challenge to make visible those who are hidden in the crowd of our communities and further afield, and how we do so in a way which enables those unique individuals to recognise their own worth and needs such that they can dare to challenge the narrative they have of themselves.

    And today it is about women.

     

  • Change is Coming…Even if We Feel the Record is Stuck

    by the Ven Nikki Groarke, Archdeacon of Dudley and Member of General Synod

    “I can hear change humming
    In its loudest, proudest song.
    I don’t fear change coming,
    And so I sing along.”

    Words from US Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman’s forthcoming book, ‘Change Sings’

    Change is humming. Can you hear it?

    The Archbishops of Canterbury and York wrote in a recent article “the Church in changing times”:

    “The Anglican stability that people rightly cherish — as do we — is the result of our willingness to change. As the theologian Hans Kung once observed: ‘To stay the same when everything else around you changes is not to stay the same.’”

    Are we willing to change, to sing along?

    Some of us thrive in changing times. I admit to relishing the challenge of leading change. It energises me, yet I understand that others find it threatening.  What I am struggling with right now however, is not being able to sing along with change, as everything feels stuck, and June freedom still feels a very long way away.

    Change is humming, but it’s so quiet now it’s almost imperceptible.

    We know that the world has changed. We know (whether we like it or not) that some aspects of church life will need to change. We can work towards that change to a degree, but this has all gone on so long, that many of us can’t really remember what ‘normal church’ felt like, so planning for change feels very abstract.

    In a reflection entitled, “A change has begun” delivered in March last year, Rowan Williams said:

    “And as we contemplate the coming months, not knowing when we can breathe again, it’s worth thinking about how already the foundations have been laid for whatever new opportunities God has for us on the far side of this crisis.”

    The change that began humming last March will provide new opportunities, but the far side is still yet to come.

    Change is humming, but the record has stuck.

    I was challenged last week by a wise woman, when I spoke of feeling that so much of the work I believe we need to do to change and strengthen our churches for the future is ‘on hold’.  She urged me not to press pause, but rather to respect the unique phase we are in and look for opportunities to do new and different things, to nourish, support and enable people in this season so that we come out of it flourishing rather than depleted and exhausted.

    She pointed me to William Bridges’ writing on transitions, where he argues that the process of change is different from the change itself. Change is situational, transition is more personal, the inner reorientation that enables the change to become real. It involves rites of passage, appropriate endings and beginnings, dying and rebirth.  He writes helpfully about the ‘neutral zone’ between the ending of one stage and the beginning of the next, being the key element of transitioning well.  In this neutral zone we can easily feel apathetic, we drift in an untethered way, disorientated and uncertain, disconnected and disengaged. It’s certainly how I have felt in this last lockdown especially.  But Bridges asserts that “the neutral zone provides access to an angle of vision on life that one can get nowhere else. And it is a succession of such views over a lifetime that produces wisdom.”

    Change is humming, but in the neutral zone it’s humming a different tune.

    We are going to be in some degree of neutral zone until at least late June.  How can we embrace this gap for something fruitful?  Rather than trying to go into reverse, back to the way things were, or into fast-forward, planning for the future without knowing the parameters, can we simply embrace the emptiness to prepare well for coming out of lockdown into a new beginning?

    Individually, the neutral zone can be used positively for retreat, time out for prayer and reflection. Although social distancing and staying at home have meant most of us have had enforced time away from others, there is a difference between isolation and retreat. Choosing to enter the wilderness as Jesus did in preparation for beginning his ministry might reframe the experience, enabling it to be a more spiritually regenerating period. Perhaps engaging with Brueggemann’s grouping of the Psalms into those of orientation, disorientation and new orientation will speak hope into our soul.

    Collectively, the neutral zone can provide space to invest in relationships.  How can I use this moment to deepen understanding with a colleague, to communicate well, to facilitate creative thinking?  How can we offer just enough structure to reassure people they are held and secure, without constraining new ideas which will, in due course, emerge? How best do we set short term goals that can be celebrated when met, without overwhelming people? How can we set an outline direction of travel, in the midst of uncertainty, such that the background hum of change is helpful mood music rather than dissonant clanging?

    Making peace with the present will enable a more healthy emergence into the future. In due course we may have to revisit endings. Some things didn’t end well, because we had no idea they were gone for good. This time last year much that was laid down was done so temporarily, but some of it has since died and inadvertently been let go of for ever, and must be appropriately grieved for before something new can begin and grow in its place.

    We will, as always, weave in and out of endings, beginnings, and the neutral zone, as transition is part of life, and navigating transitions well is what grows wisdom.

    This season of change has the potential in our churches to build to a crescendo at the right time.  The enthusiasm with which we add our unique voice to the song to make it loud and proud will depend to no large extent on how we engage with this neutral zone of our transition.  But we do so, in all our rich harmonies, knowing that our remodelled selves, and our remodelled churches, are safe in Christ.

    “‘Christ yesterday and today’, says the prayer over the Easter Candle, ‘all times belong to him and all the ages’. He is contemporary to me now; and when I remember with honesty and hope, I discover that he is contemporary with what I remember, faithfully at work in my past as in my present. And as I struggle and pray to bring together the fragments of an identity that is always being shaken around and remodelled, I get some glimpses of the promised end in which Christ simply embraces the whole of me, all I have been, and makes it one with itself and with him.”

    Rowan Williams, “Candles in the Dark – Faith, hope and love in a time of pandemic”

  • What to ‘Give Up’ When Everything’s Been Taken Away?

    by Canon Robert Hammond, is Lay Chair of Chelmsford Diocesan Synod and a Member of General Synod

    It’s that time of year when I’m sure we’ve all been asked by work colleagues:  ‘What are you giving up for Lent then?’

    It’s a ‘good opportunity’ question, really. A chance to do a quick bit of round the water cooler theology. Explain why many Christians give something up for Lent, that it’s more than not eating chocolate, or giving up cake. I tend to explain that it’s also about focussing on prayer life, God and perhaps taking something else on, or at least replacing the meaningless with the meaningful. And then I’d usually answer the question. One year it was single use plastic; that was interesting as with my Pret lunch being on full view in the office, I couldn’t sneak the odd plastic pot of (imported) strawberries and blueberries past my colleagues. Usually of course it’s alcohol or more specifically in my case, wine. I should explain though that I have a sideline in wine education, judging and leading wine tours abroad and that unfortunately March and April  just happen to be when many of the international wine fairs are held: Düsseldorf, Verona, Vienna, Bordeaux…  So, when I say I’m giving up drinking alcohol I usually add ‘unless it’s professional drinking’. At least, I used to.

    Last year was different of course, The first Lockdown was introduced during Lent and we were all adapting to new ways of going about our daily lives: Zoom Church, online shopping, face masks, hand washing, the daily Prime Minister Briefing, the statistics and sadly probably also having some personal experience of the effects of Covid-19. Everything changed so quickly; plans were changed, flights cancelled, hotels re-booked, working from home was a novelty and frankly, I can’t remember whether I continued to give something up for Lent or not.

    So, what about this year?

    Like many of us my life has become far simpler, less complex, less frenetic but no less busy. I’ve become used to operating in one place – the canvas my life is played out on is smaller. As a Civil Servant I’m working from home full time and haven’t been to a work office for almost a year. I spend most of my time in my study, so separation between home and work life is blurred. I miss my daily commute by train; time to think, to pray, to read, to be quiet. I miss the walk to my office in Canary Wharf along the Thames. I thought I’d gain time but I seem to have lost it; the pandemic has been a time thief. I go from bed to office in 5 seconds now and that’s not long enough for me to contemplate the day ahead.

    Of course, it’s also taken many other things we valued, eating out, our favourite coffee shop, travel, holidays, visiting friends and family or having them to dinner…  the list goes on. It’s easy to feel the pandemic has robbed us of them as well.

    But, I then read the Gospels set out for Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday:

    “Why are you talking about having no bread? Do you still not perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened?” (Mark 8:17),

    “But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret ……  and whenever you fast, do not look dismal, …  put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your father who is in secret and your Father, who is in secret, will reward you” (Matthew 6: 6 & 16).

    Have things really been stolen in the way I thought they had?  Yes, I’ve lost my favourite apricot tart from the bakers in Canary Wharf each morning and my coffee. I’ve lost the glamour of flying to wine fairs and tasting some excellent wines, and I’ve lost the kudos I got from posting that on Facebook. Hardly important things in the scheme of things!

    So, this Lent I’m not going to focus on what I’ve lost or what I feel has been taken from me; none of that really matters and pales into insignificance when I look at how some people’s lives have changed over this year. But I am going to put effort into ‘perceiving and understanding’ and not dwell on ‘talking about having no bread’. I’m going to get some of that lost time back, which hasn’t been stollen – I’ve just lost the ability to use it properly. And I’m going to focus on going into my room and praying, not just working.  It seems to me that this Lent especially is an even better time than usual to focus on what’s important and not to get too hung up on giving something up. If I were at the water cooler in the office I’d say that what we’ve given up already is more than enough and perhaps we should enjoy that coffee or apricot tart and not feel too guilty, but we should reflect on the whole last year and what we can learn from it.

    I got up earlier this morning, went for a walk and said Morning Prayer overlooking the sea; it felt good to have regained something I’d lost. And I will be giving up drinking alcohol this Lent, including professional drinking.

     

     

     

     

  • IICSA, ‘Living in Love and Faith’ & Lockdown 3.0

    by Prof Helen King, Professor Emerita in Classical Studies at The Open University and member of Living in Love and Faith project

    Lockdown 3: how’s it going for you? I’m finding it far worse this time around.

    Living with uncertainty is never easy, and it’s particularly difficult when things appear to be going backwards rather than forwards. Where I am, church buildings reopened: then closed again. Raised hopes were dashed. When the pandemic started, there was an institutional as well as a personal tendency to look on the bright side: in the Church of England, to focus on the numbers clicking on our online services and the inclusion of those for whom physical church is a step too far in some way. Now, the optimists are focused on the vaccination programme, and enthusing about using some cathedrals to deliver this.

    Personally, I’m poised between optimism and pessimism (which I’d call realism) here. I accompanied an elderly neighbour for her jab. The leaflet given out says “two doses will reduce your chance of becoming seriously ill” and tells you that the date for the second dose will be written on the card stapled to the leaflet. Of course, it isn’t, because all that changed after these leaflets had gone to press, and so she doesn’t know when she will be given the second dose. The leaflet isn’t the most encouraging of documents, as it also says “We do not yet know whether [the vaccine] will stop you from catching and passing on the virus.” But at least that’s honest.

    In the Church of England, we are also living with uncertainty about two issues: abuse, and inclusion in terms of sexuality and gender. And I’m not sure that we have honesty in either area. Our pandemic lockdown is difficult because it has no end date, no clarity as to its exit strategy. This vagueness can be excused, because we don’t understand the situation we’re in, but it’s not easy to live with it. But what about the Church of England responses to the IICSA report and the publication of Living in Love and Faith. Do we have an exit strategy?

    In the case of IICSA, since the October publication we’ve had plenty of expressions of shame and of frustration. The 19 January House of Bishops claims “progress towards independent oversight for Safeguarding” but doesn’t share with all the rest of us – who aren’t bishops – what that progress is. Like outbreaks of the virus, pockets of abuse keep appearing. It’s clear that managing these pockets locally, at diocesan level, didn’t work. A church version of ‘track and trace’ can follow offenders’ careers from diocese to diocese, showing the connections between outbreaks of abuse. We still wait for the ‘lessons learned’ review into the actions of Jonathan Fletcher being carried out by the independent Christian charity thirtyone:eight, the most recent date revised as ‘not before January 2021’. For those who have survived abuse, there is clearly frustration at the lack of progress.

    LLF, to my mind, invites a parallel between our discussions of sexuality and gender, and our attempts to make sense of the uncertainty we feel due to Covid-19. While our government exhorts us to “Follow the science” on the virus, scientists don’t agree on what that may be; partly because it’s all too soon to know, but also because ‘science’ isn’t one huge entity and they come from different disciplines within it. The over-simplification of “Follow the science” feels rather like “The Bible says”. Neither leads to agreement.

    While LLF has a timeline, an exit strategy, it is increasingly unlikely to work. 2021 was supposed to be when we were ‘learning together’. Some dioceses were out of the starting gate immediately, with presentations from bishops at diocesan synods. As I noted in something I wrote for Modern Church, the LLF book uses the past tense for the pandemic, as they thought that everything would be sorted on the Covid-19 front before publication. At publication, more realism emerged; Bishop Paul Butler said to his diocesan synod that “We really hope that these LLF groups will be able to be done face to face and realistically this is more likely to be possible post Easter.”

    But is even that realistic? The website for LLF anticipates midweek small groups, a Lent series, or away days; engagement with the resources by PCCs, deanery and diocesan synods and clergy conferences. How is any of that supposed to happen, if we won’t all be vaccinated until Easter, or November, depending on which press release you read; even assuming that vaccination is enough to allow groups to meet? With events still being cancelled – last week, Glastonbury, scheduled for late June – or rescheduled – the new Bond movie postponed again, from April to October – is the timeline realistic?

    However, as Bishop Paul also noted, “We are asked to feedback our discernment nationally by November next year.” The LLF page states that “Engagement will need to be during 2021 so that processes of discernment and decision-making can take place in 2022.”

    So, rather than delaying discussion of the resources yet again, isn’t it time for some online options to be offered? They would first need to be trialled to make sure that they are safe – not in Covid terms, but in safeguarding terms – for all participants. I’m not convinced that Zoom is the best way to have these conversations, not least because anyone can record a meeting, even by pointing a camera at the screen.

    The lack of an exit strategy for lockdown is depressing, but understandable. The lack of an exit strategy, of a clear timeline and goals, for responding to IICSA is depressing, and there seems no reason for it. As for LLF, the planned timeline simply feels impossible as things stand. Are the episcopal Recovery Group (covering Covid-19) or the Next Steps Group (covering LLF) facing up to any of this? Some honesty here would go a long way in managing our uncertainty.

  • Wise Words for this Year’s End…

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

    And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
    “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
    And he replied:
    “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
    That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

    Minnie Louise Haskins, who wrote these words in 1908, does not often appear in anthologies of great English poetry. Her poem was privately published in a collection called “The Desert”, and would almost certainly have been forgotten, if it were not for King George VI who used them in his 1939 Christmas broadcast to (what was then) the British Empire.

    At the end of December 1939 the “phony war” had been running for almost three months. War had been declared, but nothing seemed to be happening. The bombs had not yet begun to fall on the UK. Dread and threat were certainly in people’s minds, but it was an invisible dread and a threat chiefly existing in the imagination. To that dread and threat the King’s quoting of Haskins’ poem spoke clearly, and the words became immensely popular, iconic and inspirational. They are carved in stone at the entrance to the George VI memorial chapel in Windsor.

    At first sight it’s not obvious that the King chose the right words. Anxious people in dark and complicated times long for a known way. And there are always those who will insist that they have a safe light – if only people will follow them blindly.

    This is certainly true this year, and indeed in the past few years.

    The ongoing strength of political populism in the West flows from this anxiety, as people look for strongmen in whose booming words they can lose their own voice. So does the growth of movements based on “alternative facts” such as the antics of the President of the United States and his supporters in the weeks after the election there, or the stridently anti-rational lockdown protests seen around the world, including here in Liverpool. Empty promises of certain light, the hate that says it will cast out fear, all detached from the world’s reality.

    Meanwhile Minnie Haskins, and King George, reached for a deeper wisdom, and people in 1939 were inspired by it, and I think we should be again. “For we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7).

    For me there’s another dimension to this, which goes beyond Haskins’ poem.

    Walking by faith is the way things work, and is in particular the calling of the Church; and in the end the way becomes clear as we walk – together. We are not called to a vacuous smoothing-out of the complexities of the world, but to a process of courageous contribution and mutual enriching, so that the wisdom of God, as shared with a diverse community, may become clearer for us.

    God’s wisdom becomes clearer as each person takes the opportunity to listen, and to speak, and to listen again. In short it becomes clearer through a diversity of voices and a mutual discerning.

    In the political arena we have seen this discerning process in action – sometimes despite the best efforts of a simplistic and over-optimistic boosterism. Scientific advice and the values of human life and flourishing have (eventually) shaped policy. Of course this policy has had to be nimble, and to steer quickly and sometimes erratically by a flickering light. But there is no known way, and together the world is moving in the dark.

    As I look back on the year and on the world, it seems to me that most of the political failures in dealing with the pandemic have come from a willed disregard of corporate wisdom, and from pretending there is a clear light. To feel our way in darkness and in faith is not heroic; but in the end it is the way the world works, and is working.

    The same is true for the conversations within the Church on the matters that vex us. As an example, “Living in Love and Faith” is a complex and steady process which seeks to listen to many voices, including those (the diverse lived-out voices of LGBTI+ people) which have hitherto been excluded from the room.

    Together we are seeking to discern a future for love, in faith. The bright lights and the booming words of a contentious certainty continue to attract some – but for most of us the way of mutual and gentle discerning is the way the church works, and is working.

    Whether in the world of politics or of organised religion, this is a slow and a modest way to proceed.

    Those who promise a simple light will continue to criticise it, indeed with an increasing shrillness. But for me Minnie Haskins and King George VI knew a thing or two, and I shall walk with them, into a future which is shrouded in darkness and filled with surprise but which is nonetheless assured by the presence of God.

    In 1939 the King ended his quote from Haskins’ poem with the line I quoted: “That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.” But the poem goes on in words that make sense in the context of the Christmas story, the story of the Incarnation, and which I commend to all Via Media readers as the year turns and as our hopes gather for 2021:

    So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
    And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

  • Scripture & Sexuality – Taking Nothing For Granted

    by the Ven Nikki Groarke, Archdeacon of Dudley, Member of General Synod and Co-Founder of the Evangelical Forum on General Synod

    At the beginning of this year I took for granted that I would be able to worship in church freely, socialise with friends, spend time with my family, run my first marathon and be able to tie up my own shoe laces. To take something for granted, according to the dictionary, is “to assume that something is true without questioning it”, or “to never think about something because you believe it will always be available or stay exactly the same”.

    A global pandemic impacting us in the UK from March, and a broken shoulder impacting me personally from the end of September have changed pretty much everything about life – nothing is the same as it was this time last year. Things I never thought about have become unavailable to me overnight, assumptions about my life, abilities and entitlements have been deeply challenged. I have been forced to think about how day-to-day living is experienced by those with physical impairment or chronic pain in enlightening ways, and hopefully have grown in wisdom as a result … though I have mainly been frustrated and impatient rather than graciously stoic about the fact that I can’t run 5k let alone a marathon, and although I can now dress myself, those boot laces remain in the ‘impossible with one hand’ category.

    Over a longer period a similarly diverse and unexpected combination of factors have caused me to reflect on how much of my church tradition’s teaching on sexuality I had hitherto taken for granted. Assumptions I had never questioned have been challenged, concepts I had never really thought about because some things always stay the same and are unchangeable began to trouble me, to gnaw away at my previously rock-solid stance.

    My journey through the ‘silent middle’ in the debate on same sex relationships, articulated in a speech to General Synod in February 2017 has continued.  I would now describe myself as a gradually more confident ally. I think differently since I have ventured to question and explore with an open and undefended mind, and hope I have grown in wisdom and understanding through discovering the rich contribution LGBTI sisters and brothers bring to God’s church. Sticking my head above the parapet when invited to speak in ‘that debate’ had a much more significant impact than I could have ever imagined, leading to fascinating conversations, opportunities for engagement and some enriching new friendships, and significantly, a deeper love for God, and for the Bible. 

    My evolving perspective resulted sadly in a parting of ways with EGGS (the Evangelical Group of the General Synod), as along with others I felt I could not, with integrity, remain part of a group which defined evangelicals in terms of their views on sexuality. A new “Evangelical Forum”, of which I became a founding member, is attempting to offer a different way of meeting together as evangelicals on Synod. We will aim to provide a hospitable space for conversation, reflection and fellowship, where conscious of our oneness in Christ and his command to love each other, we undertake to listen in love, speak with kindness and understand with open hearts.

    This is going to be so important as we begin this month to engage in Synod and then across the whole church with the Living in Love and Faith (LLF) materials which aim to help the whole Church to learn how relationships, marriage and sexuality fit within the bigger picture of a humanity created in the image of God.  Commenting on the House of Bishops’ decision to proceed in the autumn of 2020, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, said on 25/6/2020:

    “The LLF resources are about vital matters which affect the wellbeing of individuals and communities. That is why it is important for the Church to move ahead with publishing the resources as soon as possible. ….  They will help the Church to live out its calling to be a people who embody the reconciliation of Christ as together we explore matters of identity, sexuality and marriage.”

    It’s envisaged that learning and engagement with the materials will over the next couple of years move to discernment and decision-making.  I really hope and pray that right across our structures and people, from synod to parish, from bishop to youth group member, from Mothers’ Union stalwart to fresh faced ordinand, we will take nothing for granted as we commit to learning together. I long for a church in which it is good to explore and question openly, from a place of acknowledging our common calling as children of a God who loves us, whether we be gay or straight, evangelical or liberal, catholic, charismatic or any other tradition, reflective practitioner or learned academic.

    At some point, when discernment leads to decision making, we will clearly not all be in agreement, which is why we have careful synodical processes to navigate. But that is still a way ahead. For now, at the end of this year in which so much of what we thought to be unchangeable has been stripped away, I dare to hope we can approach this opportunity differently. Of course, we hold on to truth with integrity, but perhaps that truth might be as simple as, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so”.

    My journey towards a more inclusive interpretation of scripture has speeded up as I have realised that Jesus loves my gay and lesbian friends and colleagues too, and that the Bible surprisingly “tells me so” – I don’t have to ditch it to embrace a theology which welcomes rather than condemns a loving, intimate relationship between two people of the same sex. This has been liberating for me as an evangelical, and I am indebted to Marcus Green and David Runcorn, whose books The Possibility of Difference and Love Means Love have helped me grapple with some of my preconceived notions.

    I am resolved to take nothing for granted, other than that it is possible to live in love and faith, as we journey together through the next stage of this long process. But I am committed to speaking out in support of those whose very existence has been challenged for far too long, and committed to doing this as an evangelical, loved by God, and tentatively trying to love those who find my changing views a challenge, embodying reconciliation with them.

    I’m happy to walk and talk with any who want to prepare for LLF hitting Synod through creative conversation. However, at least for the next few weeks, I will need to ask you to tie my boot laces before we venture out!

  • Wise Leadership: Needed Now More Than Ever!

    by the Ven Elizabeth Adekunle, Archdeacon of Hackney

    Our leadership matters now more than ever, as we look to our leaders to steer us through these choppy and unpredictable waters. The world has been faced with grave uncertainty because of Covid-19 and there are questions around how leaders manage the effects of a pandemic they cannot control. We have seen first-hand the legislative decisions that leaders across the world have made in response to the spread of the virus, and this has led to comparisons about effective leadership.

    In addition to this uncertainty, the world watched on their screens the murder of George Floyd during lockdown and the subsequent protests and stories of injustice and discrimination that emerged. Despite lockdown many felt empowered by ‘Black Lives Matter’ to protest and to ask leaders to confront and address the racial discrimination within our structures and institutions.

    If this was not enough uncertainty, add to the list the future leadership of the United States. The turnout of voters this year has vastly surpassed the number who voted in the 2016 election. One reason for the increase is likely, in part, to the gradual expansion of voting rights but another more important reason, relates to the desperate desire for good judgement and wise leadership in an environment that seems overwhelmingly divided. The likelihood is that we will know the results later today and the outcome of this contested presidential election may well lead to anger, frustration and violence.

    How our leaders lead and implement change in this moment in time, affects us in ways that leadership has not dealt with in recent history. It seems crucial therefore that our leaders have the right tools to take on this immense level of power and responsibility.

    The bible offers key teachings, not only about the dangers of the allure of leadership, but about wise affective leadership. The Hebrew scriptures aptly refer to these books as Wisdom Literature. These five books deal precisely with our human struggles and real-life experiences. Armed with prayer and quiet reflection, within these pages we see nuggets and insights in to how to be wise. For example, Proverbs 8:12 says “I, wisdom, dwell with prudence, and I find knowledge and discretion.”

    In the New testament we see the practical application of such leadership in the mission and service of Jesus; in his trial and death. Jesus exhibits a counter-culture style of leadership that is not based on ego and progression but rather on humility and integrity. A list of qualities and characteristics can be found in the nine Fruits of the Spirit; all of which help to develop wise judgement.

    Biblical teachings are ongoing tools in an unpredictable world, in which God’s reflective wisdom is needed during times of trial and times of temptation, so that leaders do not pretend. The 1662 book of Common prayer offers these wise words:

    “Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us in sundry places to acknowledge and confess our manifold sins and wickedness; and that we should not dissemble nor cloke them before the face of Almighty God our heavenly Father; but confess them with an humble, lowly, penitent, and obedient heart; to the end that we may obtain the same by his infinite goodness and mercy”.

    Wisdom can and should be nurtured, for wisdom brings good judgement, altruism, a perspective beyond the individual and an understanding of the power that leadership can wield, both positive and negative. Leadership can bring out the best and the worst in those who step up to the challenge. Therefore, recognising this and holding in tension these extremes is crucial for good clear judgement.

    In a world that demands immediacy and is often unreasonable and unwilling to see the opinion of others, or indeed the bigger picture, or the longer view it takes wise leadership not be to seduced by those that shout the loudest, or miss the voices of the ‘least of these’ and the crucial discernment process that comes from listening to others and learning from others.

    Nelson Mandela in his biography Long Walk to Freedom equated a great leader with a Shepherd, Mandela said, “He stays behind the flock, letting the nimblest go out ahead, whereupon the others follow, not realizing that all along they are being directed from behind”.

    To lead wisely means to recognise that one does not have all the answers and cannot and will not know everything. Wise leadership involves a collective group of people with different gifts and skills in which different people at different times, depending on their strengths, or ‘nimbleness’ come forward to steer the group in the best direction. Mandela’s metaphor also hints at the strength and agility of a group that does not have to wait for and then respond to a command from (the front), the one in charge. That kind of agility is more likely to be developed by a group when a leader conceives of his/her role as creating the opportunity for collective leadership, as opposed to merely setting the direction that all should follow.

    Wise leadership can be counter-cultural, in fact a leader may represent traits that are the opposite of what the world has been trained to see its leaders do and say. There are times when great leadership means letting go of what others, including one’s seniors, perceive one’s actions ought to be as a leader. Jesus is a good example of this. Wise leadership will inevitably involve God’s commandment to love and an understanding of the long view.

    The wise leader understands that purposeful work is essential to human dignity and human flourishing and the immediacy of the short-term solution often does not create lasting impact.

    Let us pray therefore that we will have the courage to recognise and appoint wise leaders that can contemplate the long view and hold them to account in order to make the world a fairer more just place


    Archdeacon Liz will be in discussion with Cardinal Tagle on November 2nd 2020 for the first of the Autumn Westminster Abbey lecture series on ‘Wise Leadership’. The talk will be available on YouTube shortly.

    https://www.westminster-abbeyorg/abbey-events/lectures-and-talks/2020/november/religion-nurture-wisdom

  • We Can’t Go Back….But We Will, Unless…

    by Jayne Ozanne, Editor of Via Media, Director of the Ozanne Foundation and a Member of General Synod

    Jayne Ozanne new

    “Real power lies in the people!”

    Earlier this week I was privileged to hear Archbishop Desmond Tutu say these powerful words during a characteristically direct address ahead of a private screening of an epic new film about Africa, climate change and migration, The Great Green Wall.

    He was keen to draw on the words of Thomas Sankara, that set the tone of the film:

    “We must dare to invent the future – everything humanity can imagine we can create”

    For the last three months on Via Media we have had 24 vastly different and yet uniquely personal blogs from a range of contributors addressing the subject “We Can’t Go Back…” They have touched on a truly diverse set of topics from power and inequality to social care and justice, and from topics relating to our buildings to those relating to our well-being and mental health.

    For all their differences, they have each dared to invent a new future, to imagine things as they could be.  Indeed, the series itself found its genesis in words spoken by the Archbishop of Canterbury during his Easter Day sermon, televised to the nation from his kitchen at the start of the lockdown, where he shared his own vision of a future filled with resurrection hope, saying:

    “After so much suffering, so much heroism from key workers and the NHS, so much effort, once this epidemic is conquered here and round the world, we cannot be content to go back to what was before as if all is normal.  There needs to be a resurrection of our common life, something that links to the old, but is different and more beautiful.  We must dream it because it is the gift of God. Then we must build it in partnership with God.”

    But the million-dollar question of course is – will things actually really change?

    Or perhaps more importantly – what will it take to bring about the change so many long for, write for, march for and in some cases, even die for?

    I suggest that there are three things that we can each do to help bring about the change we seek.  For power truly does “rest with the people” – we just need to understand how much power we have and how it can be harnessed, released and used to transform our Church, and our world.

    The first is, we need to pledge to always “call things out”.  We need to name the elephants in the room.  We need to stop admiring the “emperor’s new clothes”, and instead have the humanity and the decency to tell the emperors that they are in fact naked, that we will not go along with their charades any longer.  It takes courage and wisdom, and it requires a tone that is full of love rather than accusation – a balance that is not easy to strike.  In essence we need to stop colluding.  We need to stop colluding with the lies that have kept us all bound and which have often left us feeling that we have no option but to conform.

    What sort of lies?

    Well those that say our Church is not rich.  We are rich.  It is just that the money is locked up in ways few can access, and it is this that needs challenging.  It is the lies that say we, the Church, are united, when we all know that we are deeply divided and that it is those without power and influence who end up leaving by the back door, with few seeming to notice or care.  It is the lies that say we, the Church, have a respected voice in our nation, when in fact few are listening and frankly many no longer care as we lost their respect the moment we started preaching love to them and abjectly failing to show it to some of the most vulnerable in our midst.

    The second, which is closely related to the first, is that we need to stop being so deferential.  This does not mean that we stop showing respect to people, that is quite a different matter – mutual respect is healthy and essential.  However, there is an unhealthy level of deference in our Church that seems to put senior religious leaders on pedestals from which they can only fall.  They are human beings just like the rest of us.  They bleed, just like the rest of us.  They make mistakes, just like the rest of us.

    If we are honest, deference can act both ways – it can be as much about people in power expecting it as well as those “in the pews” kowtowing to it.  It may well have been an unspoken norm from our past, but it is not the model that Jesus shows us as he interacts with people around him – in fact quite the opposite.  The religious leaders of the day may have expected it, but He modelled something quite different – much to their frustration – and the people loved Him for it!

    Thirdly, we have to believe in ourselves. “There can be miracles, when you believe..” is not just a song sung by Mariah Carey.  It is something we each have to embrace and hold on to.  Right now there is so much that could happen, if only there were people willing to step forward and lead change.  We are in the midst of a major “reset” – there is a “reboot” that is happening not just in our Church, but in our nation and in the world itself.

    Never has there been such an opportune time for people to stand up and say “enough, I want to do things differently!”  What is stopping them?  Mostly, although I appreciate not always, it is their own levels of self-confidence and sense of self-worth.

    We are the key – we are also the barrier.  Change lies with us!

    So, in the words of Archbishop Tutu, who closed his address to us with the following challenge:

    “Let us not forget the transformative power of hope and imagination – we must dare to invent the future!”

    We must “dare”, and we must “do” – for real power lies with us!