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Category: Culture and Faith

  • Far-right Threat: Why the Bishops’ Take on “National Unity” is not enough – Part 2

    by Savitri (Savi) Hensman. A British Sri Lankan lesbian and Church of England member, she has been a writer and activist for justice and inclusion in churches and society, at times holding leadership roles in key organisations. She has also worked in community development and involvement in research, public policy and services. These two pieces will occasionally touch on some of the grim realities of inequity and violence.

    A disunited nation?

    In the second part of this reflection on the Church and the nation, I will share some ideas on how the Church of England, locally and nationally, might respond to the far-right surge. I will suggest a few principles to guide this response, then practical actions, but start with what I mean by the term ‘far right’.

    While this has been defined in various ways, I use it in a way broadly similar to that outlined by Hope Not Hate, to cover a spectrum, from those who are essentially pro-democracy to those on the extreme right who reject this and may embrace non-state violence. Far-right beliefs tend to include the notion that the nation (either geographic or racial, and sometimes viewed as superior to others) is in decay or crisis and needs radical action to halt or reverse this; and that the ‘nation’, however defined, includes an in-group, under threat, and an outgroup/enemy.  Societies can shift so that far-right views and policies are increasingly seen as ‘mainstream’.

    Suggested principles

    Firstly, the biblical understanding of what it means to love everyone, ‘unity’ and ‘reconciliation’ in Christ is not about papering over cracks. It can include challenging injustice and harm in institutions and systems, as well as at personal level, and asking awkward questions about differences in status, wealth and power. This can be tricky for churches, especially if they are as closely tied to the state as the CofE, yet is important in times like the present.

    The Bishops’ Working Group paper presented to Synod last month makes the important point that it is dangerous to conflate “our understandings of nation, church and kingdom. The kingdom of God is our ultimate horizon, and both the church and the nation stand under its judgement and promise.”

    Yet too often CofE culture and structures, encourage church members to accept inequality and defer to those in authority, without always counting the human cost.   

    But Christ still invites followers to embrace the promises in the Magnificat and the sermon on the plain; to join in bringing good news to the poor and freedom to the oppressed; reject false unity; and take up the cross, ready to pay the price of love which may involve painful change, and facing the wrath of the powerful, in the hope of resurrection (Luke 1.50-53, 6.20-26, 4.16-19, 12.49-53, 14.25-27).

    Secondly, I agree with the Working Group in its call for a healthy form of patriotism, based on an honest reckoning of what is good and evil in national history, without drawing hard lines around who belongs. Such a form of patriotism “would ask not only what the nation can achieve for those within its borders, but what responsibilities it bears toward the wider world”. This matters, especially since the absence of this among people whose self-esteem is often ground down in everyday life is all too easy for the far right to manipulate. And struggles for freedom, equality and democracy, past and present, can strengthen bonds among people from diverse backgrounds.

    Thirdly, the Church should avoid lending credibility to the notion that tension is almost inevitable between two distinct groups of people: on the one hand those who suffer stark socioeconomic disadvantage, and so are drawn towards trying to ‘defend’ England against ‘outsiders’, and on the other hand people they see as ‘foreign’.  

    There are multiple flaws in the paper’s claim that “A church that is genuinely promoting unity will be equally committed to racial justice work as well as ministry with people of working-class backgrounds. This means equally including those from Global Majority Heritage backgrounds and recent migrants, and those who would be drawn towards exclusionary politics – not in a way that endorses those politics, but by creating the relationships which allow for those attitudes to be open to examination and theological formation.” There were echoes of this in what was said at Synod too.

    Sensitive listening in safe spaces to white people drawn to the far right, yet who may feel awkward about this, is indeed valuable. But urging churches to be equally inclusive of both those who facing racial injustice and those drawn to exclusionary politics fails to recognise the following points:

    1. Many working-class people and others on low incomes are not white. Members of some minority ethnic communities are about one-and-a half to four times as likely as white British people to be working-class and/or on a very low income. So especially in ethnically diverse areas, numerous people face socioeconomic disadvantage intertwined with, rather than simply instead of, racism [1].
    2. Many white working-class people support politicians seen as opposing inequality of all kinds, including racism. This is particularly marked in younger generations and women [2]. Disadvantaged white people have often grown up amidst, or organised alongside, diverse friends, relatives or role models.
    3. Many people drawn to the far right are not working-class or economically deprived: sometimes, the opposite. This is particularly marked at leadership level. The English Defence League, though led by someone who did have a deprived childhood (Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, known as Tommy Robinson), was bankrolled by a “property tycoon and a City-based financier.” He is now backed by some of the world’s richest and most powerful men: Elon Musk, Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin. Reform UK and Restore Britain are headed by rich privately-educated former commodities traders, and funded by wealthy business people. Both favour slashing social security payments to many disabled people and funding tax cuts for the rich. For some in the middle, resentment of their neighbours on the margins masks their fear of ending up there too.
    4. Some of the institutions and systemic issues driving harsh deprivation and racist extremism overlap. The key role of powerful decision-makers, their media or business backers and unjust systems in inflicting harm directly (and legitimising everyday contempt or hatred) should be recognised. For example, in a decade-and-a-half, austerity has killed hundreds of thousands of people in Britain [3], in what has been described as “social murder,” while many others on low incomes have had their health wrecked. Public policy shifts have created an increasingly hostile environment for people of colour, as politicians target not only refugees and recent migrants but also those of us long settled or born here, even if British citizens [4]. Meanwhile attention is diverted from finding ways forward which would benefit the many, not just the few.

    Ideas for action

    I believe the types of action encouraged in the paper, and at Synod, have their place. But what is effective, and advisable, for ministers and church volunteers practising inclusivity will vary, depending on identity and situation. And friendliness and one-to-one dialogue, and/or encouraging involvement in Citizens UK or other local initiatives, while valuable are not enough on their own to turn back the far-right tide.

    While everyone in a congregation can be encouraged to be welcoming, outreach and in-depth pastoral care may need particular skills. Some church members may receive a less positive response than others from far-right sympathisers and activists. If church members provide informal chaplaincy at rallies, some may be targets of verbal abuse or physical assault, including on the way home. People can change, including violent extreme-right activists [5], but many have complex problems and require appropriate support [6].

    I am not suggesting here that people of global majority heritage, or any other group facing disadvantage or discrimination, should react strongly to each minor slight or insensitive act: practically everyone gets things wrong sometimes. Nor do I claim that a single viewpoint might represent the whole truth or even the opinion of a whole community on any topic. Nor should we reject what is freely given as gift by those able and willing to listen attentively to, and care for, people who treat them as unequal and in some cases harm their loved ones. But it is important for this not to be turned into a kind of informal tax on all, or an expectation that this is the only proper form of ‘Christian’ living. There are other ways of engaging directly with far-right views and actions, as well as offering people who might find these tempting better channels for their frustration and loss, including nationally-coordinated activities.

    There is much to learn from Anglicans elsewhere, ecumenical partners – and by reflecting on what CofE laypersons and frontline clergy active in seeking greater inclusion and equity in society (especially from marginalised groups) think that they have learned by this work. This includes activities at least partly motivated by faith but not directed by churches and of which church leaders may sometimes be unaware. Can Christians who, despite disagreement on certain matters, are committed to a more just and compassionate society get better at sharing experiences, information and views? And can CofE members talk more about the tricky issue of what might happen if the gap widens between what the UK authorities ask of citizens and what some of us might regard as our duty as followers of Christ?

    Many of us will remember times when people of global majority heritage across the world, and/or who are LGBTQIA+, have paid a high price when UK and other state power was used in destructive ways. This is a live issue today, as state measures can clash with other UK laws, and contravene wider human rights and international humanitarian law. Christians, alongside other people of goodwill, are making varied choices.

    Maybe there are some situations in which unity can only be achieved through challenge and conflict. Whether through formal church channels or Christians coming together in other ways, resources on theology and practical issues can perhaps be circulated more widely, spaces and networks for mutual support and shared learning developed, in response to the rise of the far right.

    The CofE’s tendency to create a false idol of ‘unity’ may end up not only jeopardising the wellbeing of those worst hit by injustice but also causing deadly division. But there are genuine seeds of hope, and love across difference, which deserve to be watered and nurtured through the storms to come. Beyond the Cross is the Resurrection.

    References

    1 Class categories in official statistics continue to evolve and probably still do not adequately reflect changes in technology and organisation of work, especially affecting those in non-manual jobs which are tightly employer-controlled, profit-creating and not well-paid, sometimes regarded as “white-collar working class.” In 2021 Census figures for England and Wales, white British people were only about half as likely as those with Bangladeshi or Pakistani ethnicity to be in the lowest social grades (DE), and twice as likely to be in the top (AB). People of African and Caribbean descent were about one- and-a-half times as likely to be in DE. (I have assumed that numbers of white people of Northern Irish descent, even if patterns differ slightly, would be comparatively low so make little difference to the average.) Differences are even more stark in terms of income. Later figures for income after housing costs indicated that people of Bangladeshi ethnicity were about three times as likely as white British people to live in the bottom 20% of households, those of Pakistani or Black ethnicity twice as likely. In terms of deep material poverty among children, rates were about four times as high for those of Bangladeshi as of White ethnicity, about twice as high for those of Black or Pakistani ethnicity.

    2 Both Reform UK and the Green Party perform better among people who are financially insecure. British people who own their homes outright are four times more likely to vote Reform than Green; but tenants of private landlords and people living with family and friends (including hidden homeless “sofa-surfers”) are considerably more likely to vote Green than Reform. More in Common and YouGov, from which these figures are drawn, explore the divisions further, as does the National Centre for Social Research, e.g. when examining who supports Reform and attitudes in Scotland to discrimination, which almost certainly overlap with those in England. Interpreting statistics is more complicated because older home-owners may have bought property when far cheaper and the likelihood of young people from disadvantaged backgrounds going to university has risen steeply since the 1960s; and the percentage of people born in Britain who are minority ethnic has also risen.

    3 Public health specialists have various estimates, depending in part on the years and geographical area covered, e.g. 230,000 or so in England from 2010-18. Some researchers have examined the mechanisms in different age groups etc.

    4 E.g. new rules leave even asylum-seekers who have reached England and been recognised as having fled danger, including traumatised survivors of anti-Christian or anti-LGBTQIA+ persecution, permanently at risk of being sent back and hence unable to live freely. And up to 9 million people are vulnerable to being stripped of British citizenship, hence losing vital rights and maybe facing forcible deportation, with people of colour at high risk. In effect this takes the Windrush scandal, in which hundreds of people were wrongly deported, despite contributing to UK society for decades after arriving from the Caribbean and elsewhere long ago, not as a cautionary tale but a blueprint. This concerns me far more than street-level racist violence, which is less systematic and with greater chance of rescue. Such policies in turn affect numerous white British people, including those needing NHS or social care but without staff to provide this, or who lose jobs or opportunities to study as university departments reliant on overseas students shrink or close.

    5 E.g. Matthew Collins and the late Ray Hill, both of whom became outstanding anti-fascists.

    6 For instance most people arrested in the Southampton race riots this summer had also been reported to the police for domestic abuse.

  • What is Christian about Vengeance?

    by the Revd Robert Thompson, Vicar St Mary’s, Kilburn & St James’, West Hampstead; host of Open Table, London

    The case of Jason Arday should make Christians across the political spectrum examine the difference between accountability and vengeance and the language by which a person becomes a scapegoat.

    His death has generated a depressingly familiar argument. Some believe that the ferocity of the campaign against him cannot be separated from race. Others insist that serious questions had been raised about his academic work and public story. We need to be capable of discussing both. Cambridge’s Chancellor, Chris Smith, condemned the “racist feeding frenzy” while insisting upon academic integrity. That distinction is necessary because questions about scholarship require investigation, whilst racism requires confrontation. Neither truth cancels the other.1

    Arday’s death does not prove that any of the allegations were false, nor that any set of critics caused it. Police have described his death as unexpected but not suspicious. A tragedy is not an argument, and we should resist causal claims the evidence cannot sustain.2 But this death exposes moral questions concealed in arguments about plagiarism: questions about proportionality, vulnerability and the language through which scrutiny becomes spectacle.

    Before Arday’s death, David Starkey and Nathan Cofnas recorded a conversation about what they regarded as his professional downfall. The chronology means they were not celebrating his death. Yet Starkey invoked “vengeance”, described it as “Christian”, and spoke of the opportunity to “rejoice together”.3 Arday’s death makes the moral revelation of these words cacophonous. Vengeance is not accountability. Accountability seeks truth, protection, restitution and institutional reform. It identifies responsibilities and proportionate remedies. Vengeance takes satisfaction in the suffering of the person judged to have done wrong. It wants not only the truth established but the offender to feel the force of our righteousness.

    That distinction lies at the heart of Christianity. Christians worship one who refuses retaliation, commands love of enemies, warns against judgement without self-examination and prays for those who crucify him. Paul writes: “Beloved, never avenge yourselves.” Christianity is not sentimental about wrongdoing. Grace does not abolish truth, forgiveness does not prevent consequences, and compassion does not require a university to ignore misconduct. But there is an abyss between justice and pleasure in another person’s destruction.

    The ideological context also matters. Cofnas describes himself as a “race realist”. He has argued that, under what he considers genuinely meritocratic conditions, the number of Black professors at Harvard would approach zero. Emmanuel College, Cambridge, ended its association with him after those views were published,4 although a separate Cambridge inquiry concluded that they were lawful speech and did not breach university regulations.5 This does not disprove any allegation he made. A politically motivated investigator may discover something true. Accountability and motivation are separate questions. But Arday became evidence in a much wider prosecution of diversity, decolonisation and Black academic advancement.

    René Girard helps explain the danger. Scapegoating does not require a wholly innocent victim or a fabricated accusation. It occurs when a person comes to carry anxieties and grievances much larger than any particular offence. Condemning that person then promises the community a cleansing restoration of order. The alleged offender ceases to be a neighbour accountable for particular conduct and becomes the embodiment of an institution, ideology or age.6

    That is what makes Nigel Biggar’s intervention important. Biggar is an Anglican priest, a moral theologian and a Conservative member of the House of Lords. After Arday’s death he called him a “fraud”, described him as having constructed a “huge fantasy about himself”, and said that once it was exposed there was “nowhere for him to hide”. Others, he concluded, bore heavy responsibility for “his fate”.7 His words do more than assess disputed scholarship. Arday’s wrongdoing is treated as settled, his inner life is diagnosed and his whole story becomes a fantasy. Biggar’s long engagement in controversies about empire, decolonisation, racial language and diversity may not prove racial animus or invalidate his criticism.8 It does show that Arday had become a symbolic figure within a culture war in which Biggar was already an active participant. That should have encouraged greater restraint. Priestly speech does not cease to be priestly speech when it appears on social media.

    Will Self’s furious essay about Arday’s treatment identifies something real but sometimes reproduces the movement it condemns: criticism of conduct becomes condemnation of the person.9 Bijan Omrani, whose work I like and respect even when I disagree with it, described Self’s article as “moral blackmail” and called its attacks upon Biggar and others “a disgrace”.10 The objection has force. We cannot resist one crowd by assembling another. But the moral concern must operate in both directions. If Self’s personal attacks are objectionable, so is language that reduces Arday to a fraud, a fantasy or the wreckage of an entire political project. It is not moral blackmail to insist that legitimate scrutiny remain proportionate, attend to known vulnerability and distinguish an alleged offence from the total worth of a human being. Self’s central proposition survives his excess: a person does not have to be innocent to possess the right not to be collectively destroyed.

    Girard’s warning must also be applied to ourselves. Andrew Brown, a religious journalist, challenged me to revisit what I and others had said while calling for Justin Welby’s resignation as Archbishop of Canterbury.11 I had argued publicly for his resignation since the publication of the Jay Report and initiated a petition after the Makin Review. I continue to believe resignation was necessary. The case concerned victims of abuse, the institutional responsibility of leaders holding immense power, and church structures that provided inadequate means of holding bishops and other national officeholders accountable. My purpose was to seek responsibility for safeguarding failures, not to pronounce upon Welby’s total worth. The differences from Arday are substantial. Welby was a white, Eton- and Cambridge-educated man at the summit of an established Church, supported by an extensive institutional apparatus. Arday was a comparatively exposed young Black professor, and allegations against him were recruited into a wider argument about whether Black academics and diversity policies belong in elite universities. One case concerned responsibility exercised from the top of an institution after documented safeguarding failures; the other concerned alleged personal misconduct that expanded into a public prosecution of a life.

    Yet those differences do not place me outside Girard’s warning. Welby became, for some, a symbol of everything they disliked about the Church. A justified demand for resignation can attract the energies of vengeance; criticism of office can slide into condemnation of the person. Christian humility requires me to examine my own language and motives, not merely those of people with whom I disagree. This is the deeper value of Girard for our present argument. No theological or political camp is immune. Conservatives may turn Arday into the embodiment of “DEI fraud”. Progressives may turn his critics into embodiments of racism. Church reformers may turn an archbishop into the embodiment of institutional corruption. The underlying grievances may be real, and the inequalities of power may be radical. Nevertheless, Christians must ask when accountability has become totalising, when language has ceased to describe conduct and begun to erase personhood, and when justice has acquired the emotional satisfactions of vengeance.

    The Christian story intensifies that warning. At its centre stands not a righteous crowd enjoying the downfall of a guilty man, but a condemned man surrounded by a crowd convinced of its own righteousness. Girard believed the Gospel exposes the scapegoating mechanism by telling the story from the victim’s side. It deprives the crowd of the comforting belief that unanimity proves justice. That does not mean every accused person is innocent, every resignation unjust or every forceful criticism cruel. It means the person before us remains a person. They do not become their worst act. Their disgrace must not become our entertainment; their suffering must not become our victory. The harder test of Christian ethics is not compassion for those whose innocence we recognise, but mercy and restraint when confronting those whom we believe have done wrong.

    Arday’s death must not be appropriated as proof of everything either side already believed. His family deserves space to grieve. Academic allegations may still require truthful examination, as do the responsibilities of Cambridge and the media. But “vengeance” and “rejoice together” should have sounded dreadful before his death, not only afterwards. Truth, accountability and justice matter. But vengeance is not justice. Christians across the political spectrum should be wary whenever a person becomes the symbol of everything our side opposes, and especially when cruelty begins to speak in the language of righteousness. If the Church cannot practise that humility, we should ask what exactly we think the Gospel is for.

    References

    1. Reuters, ‘Rest in Power: Thousands gather in London for vigil honouring academic Arday’, 17 August 2026.

    2. Reuters, ‘UK’s Burnham urges reflection on death of academic Arday’, 15 August 2026.

    3. David Starkey and Nathan Cofnas, recorded conversation concerning Jason Arday, circulated on X in August 2026

    4. The Observer, ‘Nathan Cofnas: the man at the centre of Arday plagiarism row was dismissed for views on race’, 18 August 2026.

    5. University of Cambridge, ‘Statement on Disciplinary Investigation (Dr Cofnas)’, 2 October 2025, updated 11 December 2025.

    6. René Girard, Things Hidden Since the Foundation of the World (Stanford University Press, 1987).

    7. Nigel Biggar, post on X responding to Zarah Sultana MP, 16 August 2026.

    8. The National, ‘Scottish Tory peer Nigel Biggar pens essay defending use of N-word’, accessed 18 August 2026.

    9. Will Self, ‘Jason Arday: J’Accuse the British Media’, SITREP, 16 August 2026.

    10. Bijan Omrani, post on X responding to Will Self’s essay, 17 August 2026.

    11. Andrew Brown, comment responding to Robert Thompson on Facebook, 18 August 2026

  • Far-right Threat: Why the Bishops’ Take on “National Unity” is not enough – Part 1

    by Savitri (Savi) Hensman. A British Sri Lankan lesbian and Church of England member, she has been a writer and activist for justice and inclusion in churches and society, at times holding leadership roles in key organisations. She has also worked in community development and involvement in research, public policy and services. These two pieces will occasionally touch on some of the grim realities of inequity and violence.

    Far right influence in England has grown sharply over the past dozen years. While minorities are most obviously affected, it is also harmful to the majority – and could have devastating effects in the not-too-distant future. A presentation and discussion on ‘Promoting Unity in our Nation’ at the July 2026 meeting of the Church of England’s General Synod raised important issues and offered some valuable insights, yet fell short in other ways. Building on what is positive, while improving on what is not, would help in tackling a serious threat to wellbeing across the UK – and strengthen the church’s ability to further inclusion in general.

    General Synod met against a backdrop of a worsening situation across the UK for people of colour (or global majority heritage: people may describe themselves in different ways) and others facing discrimination, not only on the streets but also in the corridors of power. Many feel unjustly targeted for wider social problems, in ways that may actually make these worse.

    “Friends, I don’t think we should be in any doubt – our democracy is under threat today,” Bishop of Leicester, Martyn Snow, warned when opening the agenda item. He chairs a Church of England Bishops’ Working Group on this issue, which had earlier circulated a paper.

    This paper presented its view of what was happening and why, the theological framework and what contribution the CofE could make. It ended with the text of a 2025 talk to the College of Bishops by Luke Bretherton, Regius Professor of Moral & Pastoral Theology at the University of Oxford, who is part of an Academic Reference Group. Interestingly, none of the other members of the Group were quoted.

    The paper describes high levels of distrust in institutions, scapegoating of certain minorities and a rising wealth gap; those feeling financially insecure and disconnected from society often also feel like “a stranger in my own country” and have little trust in neighbours. More positively, there is evidence of a “substantial and largely silent majority who are eager for institutions and leaders willing to speak for an inclusive English identity that rejects prejudice. The Church of England, present in every community, is uniquely placed to help that majority find its voice.”

    Previous unifying forces in Britain, the paper explains, have largely weakened or disappeared. Historian Linda Colley is quoted as identifying these as “Protestant Christianity (particularly framed in opposition to Catholicism), external military threat and imperial enterprise;” which, though their loss is welcome in many ways, has supposedly left a gap in “people’s sense of national identity and England’s place in the world.” The sense of common purpose arising from two world wars and National Service has likewise gone.

    I do wonder whether this sense of unity across classes and regions at Britain-wide level, or even in England, was ever really so strong and constant; think of tensions and sometimes strikes, even riots, over land clearances, food affordability, toll gates, rural and urban working conditions, lack of democracy and so forth. I think it interesting that for instance, in the nineteenth century, a Chartist movement attracting huge support, as well as powerful opposition, would choose as one of its top leaders William Cuffay, who was African-Caribbean, the son of a former slave from St Kitts and disabled. And perhaps the impact of wars on social relationships and belief in institutions and values was more complex. Maybe a look at historical strands which brought some (rather than all) sets of people together across diverse backgrounds, including empathy and solidarity in the quest for greater freedom, equity and democracy, might have been fruitful too?

    But I would not contest the finding that industrial decline, the drop in organisations bringing people together locally and media fragmentation have reduced the sense of connectedness. This has left “fewer shared spaces in which difference can be encountered and understood; and fewer common reference points which can cut across other identities” so that divisions can feel more acute.

    Another shift in the UK and elsewhere, in this instance overlooked by the bishops, was a gradual loss of awareness of the value of frameworks of human rights and international humanitarian law, even as these continued to develop. Though imperfect, these offered some protection from stark economic as well as social, political and cultural inequity and violence; and were about obligations to defend one’s neighbour from cruelty and injustice as much as about rights for oneself. As memories faded of the horrors of Nazism and colonialism, including slavery, these were largely overlooked or came under attack in various quarters.[1]

    In his speech, Bishop Martyn described the need to bring communities and the nation together as an urgent challenge. “If a very large number of people think our country is ‘broken’ and ‘divided’, it doesn’t matter whether we agree with them or not – the very fact that so many people think it, means that we should not be surprised if many start looking for increasingly radical solutions to ‘fix’ our nation,” he said. “And if those solutions don’t immediately work, the temptation will be to look for even more radical solutions – and history gives us plenty of examples of where that can lead.” Talks and small-group discussions followed this speech.

    I am grateful for church leaders’ genuine commitment to countering extreme racism and have much respect for the lead bishops on racial justice, Arun Arora of Kirkstall and Rosemarie Mallett of Croydon. In my view they combine willingness to speak out on uncomfortable issues with generosity of spirit. I believe in the importance of loving everyone, whatever their words and deeds; that listening and conversation can be effective in changing hearts and minds to counter injustice; and pain on all sides must be recognised; and that we need to acknowledge what is positive as well as negative in England’s present and past. Local Christian communities’ contribution to offering diverse people a chance to mix and share is indeed vital. Al Barrett, a theologian and vicar in a deprived Birmingham neighbourhood, has published his thought-provoking reflections on this, describing local attempts to embody love of neighbour during an anti-immigrant “protest” and UKIP march. In my own research and lived experience, I too have become vividly aware of the potential consequences when specific groups are targeted and how this can escalate into society-wide catastrophe if not effectively countered.

    But there is a tendency in the CofE – despite sincerely professing that all humans are made in God’s image – to take inequity for granted. And superficial “unity,” or protecting institutional reputations and resources, should not be confused with reconciliation through, and unity in, Christ.

    Each issue is unique. Yet there are certain areas of shared concern with what went so wrong at a later Synod debate on the lives and ministries of LGBTQIA+ people in the Church of England, reflected on afterwards by Charlie Baczyk-Bell and Robert Thompson, and indeed a badly mishandled safeguarding case of which an independent review was published days after Synod ended. I know that keeping organisations running can be tricky and life in community may require concessions, yet too often the cost is shunted on to those already marginalised or exploited, while possible areas of common ground are downplayed if this might offend the rich and powerful. Ultimately this does not even benefit those who oppress others or enable such oppression to happen. Shifts towards greater equity and inclusion can indeed be unsettling to people who have grown used to imbalances in wealth or status, or who believe that unequal treatment based on difference may be justified in certain instances (e.g. supposedly based on objective factors or God’s will). Sensitivity is important, along with recognition that sometimes attempts to rectify past wrongs may be clumsy or overlook complexity. But treating those upset by a measure aimed at greater inclusion as particularly vulnerable can increase their sense of vulnerability and encourage them to make further demands, while also fending off their awareness of the harm which exclusion can cause. I believe that we all, at some point in this world or the next, to be saved, must come to terms with the humanity of those whose worth we failed to respect.

    More immediately, the far-right misuse of Christianity to cover prejudice and injustice with a veneer of sanctity, though not new, has been taking highly sophisticated forms in the UK and internationally. Some mainstream churches’ focus on increasing the number of worshippers or people identifying as Christian, as well as small-scale initiatives bringing people together locally which are valuable but are not nearly enough, have left the door open. My family and I have witnessed, and experienced, grave consequences when various religions have been twisted in such ways, and how this has ended up harming even majority groups who were meant to benefit. Taking action now may make a major difference in the near future.

    In the second part of my reflections, I will offer suggestions on what might assist the Church of England, locally and nationally, to resist the far-right surge and perhaps hold on to its integrity, if things go downhill.

    [1] Some of the effects of the erosion of human rights in the UK, which left some people at extra risk when the pandemic hit, are outlined in a chapter I contributed to a book published in 2021 on COVID and co-production, free online. Since then, the situation has got worse.

  • Evolution not Revolution: Creating Change in Working-Class Ministry in the Church of England

    by Fr Alex Frost, Vicar of St Matthews, Burnley, author of Our Daily Bread: From Argos to the Altar, and member of General Synod, 2021-2026

    In mid-July I was invited for lunch and Holy Communion with The Archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally, to offer thanks for my work on Working Class Vocations at the Church of England General Synod. I’ve written about this on Via Media before, and then in 2025 I was able to bring a Private Member’s Motion asking the Church to produce a strategy to encourage lay and ordained vocations from people with working class backgrounds. The invitation to Lambeth Palace for lunch was alongside my colleagues in the working party group which was formed to follow up on that Motion, which was led by the Bishop of Barking, Lynne Cullens, and included some incredible voices from General Synod. 

    It was a wonderful occasion, and I was most humbled to represent St Matthew’s church in Burnley at such a historic place as Lambeth Palace. Despite the grandeur of the palace, the visit was reflective of the working-class strategy I’d proposed, and so both Holy Communion and lunch were without too much fuss but with a beautiful simplicity. 

    In the debate on that Private Member’s Motion, Robb Sutherland, a working-class vicar from Leeds, memorably said “One day, I hope to be sharing an Iceland prawn ring with whoever is resident of Lambeth Palace.” And yes, lunch last month included a prawn ring (although not an Iceland one), homemade sandwiches and crisps with a Victoria sponge and a cup of coffee. Archbishop Sarah was very kind and generous to me and the rest of our working group and promised to advocate for more working-class vocations. We discussed some of the ongoing challenges, particularly around finance and the well-being of ordinands who enter training. And I made the point that, despite improvements in the way ordinands are funded, when it comes to working-class ordinands with children, then if one of the parents isn’t working finance is a huge concern.  

    Sarah wanted to know how she could advocate more for working-class people, and we suggested by ensuring all dioceses were switched on and actively exploring what they might do better to welcome more working-class candidates.  

    We also discussed working-class leaders at the highest level, and Bishop Lynne was clear in her view that there are simply not enough working-class Bishops in the Church of England, meaning that the hierarchy still has a whiff of private school membership and power that comes from a place of privilege. 

    Within all these discussions, I am acutely aware that the Archbishop of Canterbury doesn’t have a magic wand and can’t ‘hey presto’ change in the church with immediate effect. And I still believe the church is nowhere near where it needs to be supporting and championing working-class people, but if nothing else, our voice has been heard loud and clear. 

    Being part of this process and on General Synod for the last five years has made me realize that when an institution is under the control of so many different Bishops, traditions and theologies, changing anything radically is almost impossible. Bishop Lynne reminded me that the Church of England is about evolution not revolution, which is a stark reminder for those of us who seek change and who want the church to become more diverse and inclusive. 

    Talking of change and diversity, the working-party I have been part of is now dissolved, and a new group will be formed. It’s clear those who will now take this working-class project forward are seeking new voices, more diversity and for the BAME community to be represented more widely. This is of course good news, but this means that some excellent voices from the group will be lost, which is a shame. 

    As I step back from front line activism on a national scale regarding working-class vocations, I will do all I can in my own Parish to ensure working-class vocations are prioritized, upheld and encouraged. 

    I remain convinced that working-class Christians can breathe new life into a struggling institution that is held back by elitism, power and control at the highest level. For this to happen, more voices need to be heard, more working-class priests need to be present, and more Bishops need to understand that God-given gifts include people who paint walls and not just people who paint pictures, along with people who cut hair, people who wipe bottoms, and people who have experience and knowledge of serving the poor and most vulnerable people in our society.  

    I’m not convinced we will see an explosion of working-class ministers any time soon, but by the grace of God, and by opening the flood gates to allow the Holy Spirit to get in, our grand old institution might just wake up to the exciting potential of change that it so badly needs. 

  • Safeguarding: Still Not Trauma-Informed

    by Helen King, member of General Synod, 2021-2026; vice-chair of Together for the Church of England; President, Modern Church

    I have commented many times on the seeming inability of the Church of England to learn from its safeguarding failures. More and more ‘lessons learned’ reviews are published: but, despite promises of some work to connect them all and find common ground, nothing seems to happen. Lessons Learned Reviews are now called Safeguarding Practice Reviews but that does not detract from the point that they are not an end in themselves: we are supposed to learn something from their findings. As I have noted in relation to the abuse of the Read sisters, there is inconsistency in which reviews are considered ‘national’ and needing to be shared, and which are kept confidential to the diocese and the survivors. The recent Independent Safeguarding Audit of the National Safeguarding Team recommended that the C of E’s National Safeguarding Team, “in collaboration with the Audit and Information Technology departments, should immediately commission and establish a Centralised Safeguarding Learning Repository for all completed Lessons Learned Reviews (LLRs) and Safeguarding Practice Reviews (SPRs)”. And that’s what we need; something to join up the dots.

    Reviewing reviews

    This recommendation from the Independent Safeguarding Audit is of considerable interest for those of us on General Synod for the 2021-2026 quinquennium who have been asking questions about how the ‘learning’ is supposed to be connected across reviews. We were led to believe that those dots were already being joined up. In February 2026 the Lead Safeguarding Bishop reported (Q80) that a thematic review of the LLRs and SPRs over a five-year period would be completed that month.

    There is still no sign of it. Responding to a follow-up question on this in July (Q130) the Lead Safeguarding Bishop said that the National Safeguarding Steering Group had received the report on these themes across reviews in May and were working on it to connect its findings with existing work on improving safeguarding, and after they consider it again later this year “publication arrangements will be considered”. That is rather less definite than what he said in February which was that “the findings will be published as part of the Church’s ‘From the Ground Up’ workstream within the ‘Turning the Page’ safeguarding programme”. I had never heard of the DARE Unit – that stands for data analysis, research and evaluation – until I was following up that February response, but this seems to be what was meant by “Turning the Page”; some information is here and if you click on the FAQs you can find out more about how it is supposed to turn safeguarding “lessons into action without delay”.

    So how is this going to join up with the Centralised Safeguarding Learning Repository, and who will have access to that repository?

    LLRs and SPRs are not the only sort of review probing our safeguarding practice, and here I want to say something about another sort of review: an Independent Review. One of these was published on 15 July. It relates to a survivor whose experience with the C of E was on the list of cases needing attention at the point when the Independent Safeguarding Board was abruptly terminated in 2023. The ‘ISB 11’, victims and survivors of C of E abuse and misconduct whose cases had been referred to this group, were left in limbo. The subject of this Independent Review, Jane Chevous, identified in it only as ‘TT’ but waiving her anonymity on publication, has noted that “Mine is the first new review to be published from the legacy of the ISB work, and I hope it gives some hope to others that they will see some resolution soon”. That’s encouraging. Other than a news story in the Church Times and an interview on BBC Woman’s Hour, this new review by safeguarding specialist Helen M. Gilbert seems to have had little publicity, but it deserves to be very widely read.

    What have we learned?

    Much of what is highlighted in the Review is not new, and makes it clear that we are yet to take on board the most basic lessons of earlier reviews; Jane Chevous reported what had happened to her more than once, and we read of missing documents, long delays in responding to letters, unacknowledged power imbalances, and a generation of bishops described as being used to “being the boss”. This Review uncovers two appalling examples of bishops who did not pass on allegations of abuse because they were said to be “aggressively committed to protecting clergy and would bat complaints away”. One of these bishops did not bother with doing the statutory safeguarding training; after several years of this, he was given bespoke training, and then let that lapse as well. Safeguarding is everybody’s business? Apparently not.

    This case, which spanned three dioceses, yet again showed up inconsistencies across the C of E in culture and practice, not helped by high staff turnover in safeguarding. As with the Smyth abuse case, one of the clergy involved – in this case, one of the bishops – moved overseas, which revealed the lack of connection between parts of the wider church and the implications of this in a safeguarding case.

    The detailed and very clear Review also shows where there was good practice. Both my own diocese, Oxford, and Southwark, in recent years come out as places “where bishops worked closely with their safeguarding teams, taking their advice and supporting the development of strong survivor centred safeguarding cultures”. In particular, Oxford Diocese is praised when it went beyond what the NST had recommended.

    What are we not learning?

    The key lesson, and it’s not the first time we’ve heard it, is that safeguarding must be survivor-centred and trauma-informed, and a real sense of best practice here comes across throughout the Review. What the survivor most wanted from all of this was to be believed and heard, to be given an apology, “and to be able to engage in some form of restorative justice. The process denied her all of these.” When, in 2021, a letter of apology was produced, it was not written by the person over whose name it appeared: and then it was not sent for 8 months. In her conclusions Helen Gilbert comments “One must question why there has been such a reluctance to provide apologies and during this case review the opinion was expressed to the Reviewer that there is little doubt that part of this is to avoid liability.”

    One aspect which receives attention throughout the Review is what happens to a member of the clergy when they retire and keep Permission to Officiate (PtO). In 2022, the “Diocese of Oxford had considered their moral response regarding Rev B [one of the two clergy abusers]. On 30.3.22 the Bishop’s Chaplain and Rev B’s area Bishop visited Rev B. Following their conversation Rev B relinquished his PtO. He maintained he intended to do this on health grounds”. In the light of the detailed timeline given, with many earlier discussions of whether or not he should keep PtO, this appears to be a case of jumping before you are pushed. That meant that Rev B was allowed to take control of the story. This becomes explicit later in the report where we read that “Rev B wanted TT to be told he was relinquishing PtO on health grounds” [my italics]. Why the reluctance to remove PtO, and how does that look to the survivor?

    The national church needs to do far more to appreciate how important a survivor-centred and trauma-informed approach is. For example, in February 2026 I asked at General Synod about the trauma-informed training which we had been told in 2023 was ideally to be given to all members of Synod (Question 81). I was told that bite-size modules for this would go live in May. They didn’t. A question following this up in July (Question 129) received the answer “Competing priorities in the development of the National Safeguarding Training Portal have delayed the progress with the bitesize modules for trauma-informed practice training. The modules are in development and will be released as soon as possible.” No date was mentioned. I don’t think this is good enough. Such training was a recommendation of the Wilkinson Review and it should not take three years to set it up.

    A further example of not acting on previous reviews – in other words, not learning lessons – that comes out in Helen Gilbert’s Review is that “Both the Makin Review and the report by Professor Alexis Jay CBE on the Future of Church Safeguarding in the Church of England recommend the establishment of a separate, wholly independent body who would be responsible for providing scrutiny and oversight of safeguarding, free from the influence of any senior church officers. This is also a finding of this review.” But such independence has still not happened.

    As for that reference to the potentially malign influence of senior church officers, it recalls another recent safeguarding document, INEQE’s 2025 annual report, where the lead auditor shifted the blame away from (most) senior clergy on to senior diocesan officers and some national church staff. He wrote, “Crucially, the primary inhibitors of progress do not stem from senior clergy, most of whom demonstrate a genuine desire for change. Instead, they are structural and, in certain cases, institutional. They arise from a small group of influential senior officers at the diocesan level and certain individuals within the national Church.” This needs investigation, and action.

    That was then and this is now?

    A theme of this Independent Review, as of many others, is the claim of those who did not report abuse that such a (lack of) response was appropriate to the time when they heard about it. The Reviewer will have none of that. When Jane Chevous first reported her abuse by the two clergymen, it was in the period 2001-2002. The two clergy tried to claim that here that they could not be blamed for their actions; in the words of the review,

    “However, they qualified their statements and their responses in 2001/2 by saying ‘but there were no policies then’. As stated, during the course of this review, the theme that in 2001-2 there were no policies and procedures has been expressed repeatedly both in some of the NST documentation and in some of the interviews. Furthermore, it has been stated by some members of the NST that the diocesan bishop acted ‘appropriately for the time’. The Reviewer does not accept this view.”

    The Review contains not only a highly detailed and evidenced timeline but also a list of discussions and reports which predate 2001, with the Reviewer identifying a clash between NST views and other views on past abuse when she notes that “It is therefore a real concern that members of the NST still consider Bishop X acted appropriately for the time despite the evidence set out in this report.”

    Moving forward?

    The Reviewer comments that “it is not possible in this case review to comment on whether there has been any significant learning from the investigation into TT’s case. The church’s response to investigations and reviews is a wider issue across the Church of England.” She is right. Read the Review for yourself to learn how trauma-informed responses are essential if we are to move forwards on safeguarding.

    The last words must rest with Jane Chevous herself. She writes:

    “The review reveals my experience that, as a woman, the misogynistic attitudes in the church both made it easier for the priests to rape me, and meant that my complaint was often not taken seriously. Too often I hear of other women victims’ abuse dismissed as ‘affairs’.

    It shows that while safeguarding processes have developed, the too narrow focus on risk doesn’t offer survivors justice or healing. This makes it almost impossible for the church to deal with all the damage caused by non-recent abuse. 

    … In the end, it’s about love for a fellow human being who is suffering. And if the church can’t manage that, then it has truly lost its way.”

  • Where’s My Bishop?

    by the Revd Robert Thompson, Vicar St Mary’s, Kilburn & St James’, West Hampstead; host of Open Table, London; from 2021-26, member of General Synod

    “Your Father who sees in secret…” (Matthew 6.4)

    The gospels record Jesus speaking often about the relationship between the hidden life and the public life. Again and again Jesus calls the disciples towards integrity, where what is true before God increasingly becomes visible in the way we live before one another. “Your Father who sees in secret…” is not an invitation to secrecy, but a reminder that the God who knows us most deeply also calls us to become people of truth.

    General Synod has its own discipline of accountability. Our debates are public and preserved on YouTube. Our speeches are public. Our votes are public. Then, a week or so after each meeting of Synod finishes, for every vote where a formal count has been requested, a list of who voted for, who voted against and who abstained is also made public. That is not an administrative detail but a substantive expression of accountability. Those of us entrusted with teaching and governing the Church exercise that ministry publicly and we are answerable to the Church we serve.

    For the July 2026 Synod, the lists of those who voted and in what way were published on 23 July. Helen King brought to Synod a Private Members’ Motion on the Christian dignity of those of us who are LGBTQIA+ followers of Jesus Christ, and the defeat of this motion, as amended, by a mere three votes in the House of Bishops has already attracted criticism. The voting patterns of our bishops have especially caused much criticism. People have been asking, “How did my bishop vote?” And now it is possible to see.

    Here, however, I want to focus not simply on how bishops voted, but on what the votes reveal about the Church and the episcopacy itself.

    For seven years the Living in Love and Faith process has invited the Church to “walk together”. We have listened to one another’s stories. We have studied Scripture. We have repented of the harm caused to LGBTQIA+ people. We have created the Prayers of Love and Faith, and allowed them to be used with same-sex couples in existing church services. Like the Syrophoenician woman (Mark 7.24–30), many LGBTQIA+ Christians feel they are invited to be grateful for crumbs rather than welcomed to the table itself. The Prayers of Love and Faith have brought real pastoral good. Yet many still experience them not as full recognition but as permission to gather the crumbs which are left over. Ordinands and clergy in relationships, civil partnerships and same-sex marriages still live with uncertainty, and the Church remains unable to articulate a settled pastoral vision, let alone a theological one. This debate was therefore about much more than sexuality.

    The first amendment to Helen King’s motion, proposed by Jamie Harrison, restated where we are after the February vote to set up another working group and would largely have continued the present post-LLF process as one not too dissimilar to that which we have experienced in those last seven years. But Synod declined that route.

    The debate then moved to Christopher Dalliston’s amendment. Helen King has described that amendment – which she supported – and its purpose here. Where Jamie Harrison’s amendment asked whether the process should continue, Christopher Dalliston’s amendment asked a much deeper question: what kind of Church do we already believe ourselves to be? It was not primarily about sexual ethics but about ecclesiology. Christopher invited Synod to affirm that all baptised, believing and faithful people, regardless of sexual orientation, are full members of the Body of Christ; to delight in the lives and ministries of LGBTQIA+ people; and to recognise a legitimate range of theological conviction across the Church. This last point was a conscious attempt to respond to concerns heard from those who are not willing to affirm what the original motion, and the amendment, described as “committed, faithful, intimate same-sex relationships”. This amendment passed in all three Houses. Only then did the amended motion – the same wording as the Dalliston amendment – fail in the House of Bishops.

    The figures deserve careful attention. The House of Bishops has fifty-three voting places. At the time of the vote seven diocesan sees were vacant, and ‘acting bishops’ are not allowed a vote. Perhaps five bishops were unavailable because of illness, suspension or having stepped back from ministry. That left forty-one bishops who could reasonably have been expected to participate. The recorded votes were 11 in favour, 14 against, 4 abstentions, leaving twelve bishops with no recorded vote. Even allowing for two or three bishops on duty in the House of Lords on that day, and one who may be on sabbatical before taking up his appointment, nearly a fifth of those who might reasonably have participated left no recorded vote. Some may have had entirely understandable reasons and perhaps will explain them to those in their diocese. But the numbers still matter, when the difference between those in favour and those against was a mere 3 votes.

    For LGBTQIA+ Anglicans these debates are not abstract constitutional exercises. They concern our relationships, vocations, ministries and families. As a gay priest, I found this high number of non-recorded votes deeply sobering. Not because I presume to know anyone’s motives, but because when questions touch the heart of your vocation, the absence of a recorded position is itself something you notice. Episcopal leadership is also about being willing to be counted. Yet I suspect that observation only scratches the surface. The more interesting question is this: what do we and our bishops believe episcopacy is for?

    One result prompted particularly searching conversations among LGBTQIA+ clergy. Sarah Mullally, the Archbishop of Canterbury, voted against the amended motion. That surprised many queer colleagues because it sat in tension with the pastoral experience some of us have had of Sarah’s ministry. I have no wish to speculate about the reasons. But the contrast raises an important theological question. Do we and do bishops sometimes believe that the office they hold necessarily requires a distinction between the convictions they carry pastorally and the positions they feel able to express publicly?

    Before Synod began, I wrote on behalf of colleagues about the presence at York of campaigning organisations whose activities many LGBTQIA+ members and allies experienced as hostile. My concern was never about silencing disagreement. It was about creating the conditions in which the whole Church could genuinely discern together. In their written response, Sarah Mullally, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Stephen Cottrell, the Archbishop of York, agreed that the exhibition stall should not be permitted, while allowing the associated fringe meeting to proceed. The distinction rested on one activity being public and the other being regarded as private. Yet the fringe meeting had already been advertised in the official General Synod fringe programme and published on Synod’s public website. The boundary between public and private proved far less straightforward than it first appeared. That, perhaps, is another reminder that the distinction with which this essay began is never as neat as we imagine. It is also one of the deepest responsibilities of an episkopos to help the Church discern not only where those boundaries lie, but when they have ceased to illuminate the truth and begun instead to obscure it. Perhaps that is why one of the most moving moments of this Synod came when Nicholas Chamberlain, the Bishop of Grantham, spoke publicly about his own life as a gay man. It mattered because truthfulness itself became a pastoral act. In that moment episcopal leadership was expressed not through institutional management but through honest witness.

    The Greek word episkopos means an overseer, one who watches over the Church. A bishop is not simply an institutional governor or constitutional referee. A bishop is called to discern where the Holy Spirit is leading God’s people, to teach the faith, to guard communion and to keep before the Church the horizon of the Reign of God which is both embodied and fulfilled in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Unity matters profoundly. But the purpose of episcopal ministry is not simply to preserve communion. It is to enable the Church to become more fully what, in Christ, it already is. The calling of an episkopos is not simply to keep the Church together. It is to help the Church recognise more clearly the Reign of God already breaking into the life of the world, to help the Church see that reign of justice and peace more clearly and to proclaim and embody it as Christ’s Body.

    But we and the bishops were not simply being asked to affirm the dignity of LGBTQIA+ people as an ethical question. We were being asked a theological question, to affirm what baptism already declares: that LGBTQIA+ Christians are already full members of the Body of Christ, their lives and ministries being offered as gifts to the whole Church. That is why the bishops’ response matters so much. The question before them was not simply ethical but theological. It asked whether the House of Bishops could distinguish questions of sexual ethics from the prior ecclesiological claim made in baptism.

    Earlier this year I found myself asking, ‘What kind of Church are we becoming?’ This Synod has led me to ask a related question: what kind of bishops are we forming? The two questions cannot be separated.

    Let me be clear. This is not an argument that every bishop should have voted as I would have wished. Episcopacy is not measured by agreement. It is measured by faithfulness. My question is a different one. What understanding of episcopal ministry leads so many bishops to conclude that, on one of the defining pastoral and theological questions of our generation, leaving no recorded public position is the most faithful exercise of their office?

    Jesus called his disciples not simply to preserve what already existed, but to proclaim that the Reign of God had drawn near. That remains the calling of every Christian. It surely remains the calling of every bishop.

    After seven years of Living in Love and Faith, perhaps the question is no longer simply: ‘Where’s my bishop?’

    The deeper question is this: What kind of Church do we believe Christ is calling into being—and do our bishops feel free to lead us towards it?

  • The End of the Synod: Grieving for Love

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

    I will admit that the defeat at this July’s General Synod meeting of the Private Member’s Motion on the lives and loves of LGBTQIA people hit me really hard.

    I think most of us who are hardened ‘campaigners’ – a term I dislike, because it is pejorative, othering, and suggests we are somehow out on a limb whereas we are simply calling for our basic dignity to be respected – are used to being treated poorly in the General Synod. Most of us are used to having to dust ourselves down, get back up, and get back on with it. Most of us are used to being held to higher standards, to turning the other cheek, to forgiving when our so-called shepherds let us down, repeatedly. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t keep at this soul-destroying slog through every obstacle that can possibly be put in the way of queer equality. Yet as the vote came in – laity and clergy in favour, bishops split, and overall, against – I felt, for the first time in a long while, a real sense of grief.

    I felt bereft and betrayed – I knew that people in that chamber, who had pledged apology and change, didn’t value us quite enough to say they loved us. I knew that – whatever the excuses – there were some bishops in that chamber who simply didn’t think we were worth it. There were some who had listened to their brother bishop, the ‘openly gay’ Bishop of Grantham, and said ‘we have no need of you’. We know there are some in the Synod chamber for whom compromise is a dirty word – we’ve seen that time and time again – but there were some who should have had our back, and didn’t. It hurt – a great deal.

    Aggrieved and let down is possibly the best way to describe LGBTQIA members of Synod as many of us ate lunch together that day. It is not a good place to be at the end of a bruising Synod. I do sometimes wonder whether those inside the chamber realise how their words and their actions are heard outside. The very same morning that we were unable to say anything positive about LGBTQIA people in this debate, the ridiculous Synod fringe on what is misleadingly called conversion ‘therapy’ took place – with a decision to allow it to go ahead made on the basis that nobody need attend if they didn’t want to (I did attend – it was unconvincing and sad, but – perhaps surprisingly – just incredibly boring). Most of us were pretty grossed out that this event would be allowed at all, yet the irony was not lost on me after the Synod debate: what was said in the chamber was not said in private in a fringe, but was very much public, very much heard by those outside. And, judging from many conversations in the wake of this car crash, it has done an awful lot of damage.

    One of the things I have become most interested in since getting more involved in the machinations of the church is the underlying psychological dynamics. I would say this, wouldn’t I, but we do love to dress up our decision-making and common life in theological vestments when good old sociology and psychology would do. The current behaviour of the House of Bishops is a good example. The overriding narrative – not one, I should say, that is owned by all members – is that ‘consensus’ is the key thing. It’s like a retreat to the pre-LLF days, where all bishops allegedly thought the same about everything, but couched in different terms (remember the 2017 Take Note debate, where they all voted the same way, except the Bishop of Coventry, who pushed the wrong button).

    There were a remarkable number of different ways to present this new way of inhabiting episcopacy. ‘We have a fragile consensus’, we were told, time and again, which meant that LLF had been ‘concluded well’ in February, and we mustn’t upend that now – dishonest in the extreme. The vapid and erroneous ‘focus of unity’ argument was there underneath the surface, even if nobody had the guts to pretend they believed in it this time. The Working Groups need to be ‘allowed to do their work’ and saying anything more at this stage would ruin that (not, of course, that the chair of the new working group had been asked, however much straight white men decided to speak for her). We are told that there would be difficulties in the Anglican Communion (whatever that is supposed to mean). There was a particularly egregious speech that suggested that the use of the word ‘legitimate’ might ruin everything (not having read, it appears, Section 7 of the LLF book which accepts seven different ways of reading the Bible), and other bizarre speeches suggesting that intimacy was all about sex (beautifully addressed by the final speech by the Bishop of Dover, suggesting we might, as a church, stop our obsession with sex whenever the word intimacy is used). Big beasts of the House stood up and tried to shut down further debate, and the majority of the House of Bishops voted for a wrecking amendment, which the rest of us saw off nicely. Consensus, it seems to me, is yet another word for doing nothing.

    Yet it was clear which way the debate was leaning and how the votes would fall, and it is hard to see the final vote as anything other than a key example of tactical stupidity. As every House accepted the Dalliston amendment – which simply stated facts about the current divisions in the church and synod about same-sex relationships, yet which also dared to suggest that the Synod ‘delights in the lives and ministries of LGBTQIA+ people in the Church of England’ – the final vote offered an opportunity for those outside the chamber to finally hear something positive about LGBTQIA people. Just imagine, if queer young people could have heard us say that we delight in them; if queer people in ministry could hear that we delighted in them. Just imagine if that is how we had ended the last five years of bruising debate. Yet ever able and willing to snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory, when it came to voting on the motion as amended, the House of Bishops said ‘no thanks’, and chose to sink the whole thing. This might have suited their ‘consensus’, but if they think anyone outside their echo chamber gives a fig about that, then they’re even more deluded than they appeared on the floor of the chamber. We got the message loud and clear – we don’t matter to them.

    The House, of course, has been there before – lest we forget that Take Note debate of 2017 which launched the whole LLF process, where the clergy quite rightly gave the House of Bishops a bloody nose for their offer of ‘same old, but with more smiling’. Yet, and this is why my initial grief has turned to a sense of committed and furious determination, there are key differences this time. Both laity and clergy voted for the motion, in bigger numbers than in any previous LLF debate. And, crucially, the House of Bishops is split. Almost enough of those who were present at Synod that day voted with us to get this thing over the line. The tide is turning, and whilst enough members of the House of Bishops wish to stick their fingers in their ears and pretend it’s not happening, it is. There is a clear direction of travel. And what a time to see a turning of the tide – as General Synod elections come over the horizon.

    Which is why we now have a job to do. It is essential – absolutely essential – that the General Synod be a little more reflective of the Church of England more widely. For years, well-funded, reactionary factions have played their politics hard and flooded the chamber of General Synod with their votes. No more of this. The General Synod might be tedious and tiresome, but it matters – in the next quinquennium we will be voting for new members of the Crown Nominations Commission (currently hugely disproportionately filled with conservative votes) and we will finally be debating whether diocesan Acting Bishops can vote in Synod. The new Working Group on Relationships, Sexuality and Gender will be bringing proposals to the General Synod that could finally end the discrimination faced by clergy in marriages to people of the same sex. And we will find, I imagine, that ‘consensus’ rather changes its spots when the General Synod becomes more decisively inclusive. There will be a chance for us to make concrete steps in the right direction, and to help create a church that truly loves, values, and delights in all its people.

    So, however frustrating, this is not all about bishops.  We do no good spending all our time pointing the fingers of blame, though let us remember the good Anglican polity of bishop-in-Synod, and hold them accountable. Almost half of them stood with us. Once we know who voted which way, we will see who our true allies and friends are – and we must encourage them. The ones who didn’t vote in favour, because they worshipped the idols of consensus or unity, will need to answer to those in their pastoral care, and ultimately to God: are we worth so little that preserving echo chamber consensus is more important? Yet ultimately it is about getting over the grief and channelling the anger and the frustration towards changing the way we are treated. It is even, dare I say, about trying to rise above that anger and striving for the good of the church – a church that is desperate to break free from the reactionary tendencies that have so imprisoned it these long years. A church that can be more what the church should be, by saying to each of its members ‘we have need of you’.

    The General Synod let us down last week. Now is the time to make sure that doesn’t happen again.

  • Creating Family: A Perspective on the Debate on Looked-after Children and Those in Care

    by Helen King, member of General Synod 2021-2026; vice-chair, Together for the Church of England

    The July Synod agenda went through a few last-minute changes this time, including moving the debate on the Private Member’s Motion on looked-after children and those in care; a motion asking for a lead bishop, who can act as a focus for raising public awareness, and for work within dioceses to support this. I had put in to speak on this one so was very disappointed that the new time set was precisely when I had to see a hospital specialist yesterday morning. The motion was moved by Billy-Jo O’Leary, speaking from her experience as a Synod member who had spent time in care. The points I’d hoped to make were not made, so I have simply edited my draft speech here to add some references to what was said – the joy of being able to watch the debate on catch-up – and changed the tense to take into account of the that the motion was passed – unanimously.

    While I am not always a great fan of ‘let’s have a Lead Bishop for’ whatever concern we have, I think this was a very valuable motion. It highlights the obstacles currently faced by those leaving the care system, but I would urge that the role description for this bishop’s appointment should include promoting what for many is the best route out of the care system: adoption. We should not be put off by the shameful history of the church homes which carried out forced adoption. Adoption has changed beyond recognition and I suspect some of us have no idea what adoption means today.

    Unsurprisingly, based in cultures where adoption of adults was normal, the Bible uses the very strong imagery of all of us being adopted into God’s family; e.g. Galatians 4. If the Church is a family – and that language needs to be used with care, since for some people the family has been the site of the abuse which has damaged their lives – if the Church is a family, then it is a family formed by adoption. The trouble with these references is that they can sound too cosy. They can make adoption sound like it’s very simple. They don’t do justice to the issues raised by adopting a child or young person who may have been through all sorts of trauma, including that of being taken from their birth family.

    Adoption now

    In the debate, Sheila Bissell mentioned how long the process takes, but there is so much more that needs to be said. Like some of those who spoke, I have colleagues and friends who have adopted. So I know that there is a huge amount of vetting, training and support offered to potential adopters, and the support continues after the legal processes are complete. The language of finding one’s ‘forever family’, used by one speaker in the debate, misses the point that there is much more concern than in the past with maintaining relationships with the birth family, where this is possible (and attempts are made to find a kinship adopter before looking outside that family). We must also face the fact that adoption is not always the end of the story; some adoptions are not without pain, and some don’t work.

    But we should all note with concern the decline in the last 5 years in the number of children leaving care and moving into adoption; there are not enough people coming forward to adopt. In her opening speech, Billy-Jo noted that over 100,000 children in the UK are currently in care. We didn’t hear any figures for adoption. Billy-Jo mentioned race but, while the legacy of forced adoption shows us how the idealised model of the white middle-class nuclear family used to dominate, today adopters can’t only be from other racial backgrounds; they can also be single; over 50; and not owning their own homes.

    Sexuality: a significant omission…

    A significant omission from yesterday’s debate was affirmation of those who are LGBTQIA+ and in committed relationships and who have chosen to adopt. This seems to me pretty typical of our failure as a Church to recognise their contributions. Synod needs to know that sexuality is not a bar to adoption. A 2021 article in the journal Child Development concluded that “Given the large number of children in need of adoptive families, adoption agencies should give greater consideration to gay couples as prospective adoptive parents.” In 2025, the agency Adoption Matters had 40% of those approved to adopt identifying as LGBTQ+, pointing out that “What IS important is the commitment, resilience, stability and love that children who have suffered early childhood trauma ALL need.” Department of Education figures for 2025 state that 1 in 5 adoptions were by gay couples. Another agency, Adopt Thames Valley, currently aims to increase applications from the LGBTQ+ community “who are more likely to adopt children who typically wait the longest and are significantly more likely to adopt sibling groups”.

    And these figures exclude gay solo adopters like my colleague who adopted a toddler in 2024. She has written:

    “I think being a queer woman, especially of my generation, has given me quite a helpful perspective on adoption. I spent my formative years under the shadow of Section 28, and left to feel an outsider as a result, as ‘ideal’ family life was always presented as biological and nuclear. I think this experience is helping me put myself in the shoes of a child whose family life doesn’t fit that mould, because of their history and adoption. LGBTQ+ people – many marginalised people – tend to know all too well what it feels like to be seen as different, and to understand instinctively the importance of chosen family. There are positive messages from this we can pass on to our adopted children.”

    The log in our eye

    Finally, I was disturbed in the debate by what came across as self-congratulation on how good Christians are at offering to adopt; Julie Maxwell said that “We need Christians to step up”. We need people in general to step up! And let’s make sure we have seen the log in our own eye. We heard in the debate from Michaela Suckling about how the young person to whom she was the independent visitor was let down by a church youth club. In the Church we make all sorts of assumptions about ‘family’: but it doesn’t require two parents. And, when it comes to solo adoption, this can be difficult for Christians in some sorts of churches; I have spoken to another solo adopter who has felt repeatedly judged by Christian acquaintances who assume that she has given birth to a child without being married.

    Finally, I’d recommend that we don’t overlap the responsibilities by appointing a lead bishop who is also working on the forced adoption apologies: the new lead bishop needs to focus on looked-after children today. She or he needs to take the lead in educating our Church on what adoption, and also ‘family’, means now.

  • Be Kind

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

    An extraordinary article entitled Nonsense and Neurodivergence in response to our motion as the Neurodiversity Working Group to General Synod has just been posted on The Critic website by Andrew Tettenborn – a Professor of private, commercial and maritime law at the University of Swansea.

    I wanted to reply directly but The Critic does not appear to allow for comments on their opinion pieces and while the Critic tells us that Tettenborn tweets at @seatradelaw – that X handle does not exist. It appears that The Critic does not like debate and dialogue, just shouting into an echo chamber.

    Tettenborn’s key criticism comes in the penultimate paragraph where he says:

    The chief difficulty with this document is that, though produced in a religious environment and making a nod to religious ideas, it is actually almost entirely secular in approach, interestingly not containing a single reference to scripture. The twenty-first century mantra Be Kind runs through it like the letters in a stick of rock.

    Kindness – far from a twenty-first century mantra – is a key Biblical concept central to the Biblical faith. Here are just 8 examples:

    1. Ephesians 4:32
      Be kind to one another.
    2. 1 Corinthians 13:4
      Love is patient; love is kind.
    3. Galatians 5:22
      The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. 
    4. Micah 6:8
      He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
          and what does the Lord require of you
      but to do justice, and to love kindness,
          and to walk humbly with your God?
    5. Proverbs 21:21
      Whoever pursues righteousness and kindness will find life and honour
    6. Colossians 3:12
      As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.
    7. Matthew 25:34-36
      Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”
    8. Zechariah 7:9 (ESV)
      Thus says the Lord of hosts: Render true judgements, show kindness and mercy to one another.

    The mantra of the age is rather that of conflict and disparaging others. The temptation is to be cruel not kind and I find no Biblical consensus in favour of cruelty.

    We are proud that Ephesians 4:32 runs through our motion like the letters in a stick of rock: Paul told us to ‘be kind to one another’.

    Theology informs all that we do as the Neurodiversity Working Group. We are not driven by a secular ‘human rights’ agenda: rather we are energised by the Scriptures that call out for diversity and inclusion. We remember 1 Cor 1:26 ‘Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.’

    We are energised by Paul’s description of the church as the Body of Christ.

    Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many.

    Now if the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. And if the ear should say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be?

    The celebration of diversity and the inclusion of all is a core doctrine of the church. Just read any of the gospels and see how Jesus welcomes the outcast and challenges the powerful.

    Along with kindness, another key Biblical word runs through our thinking and that is flourishing. Jesus said he came to bring life and life in all its fullness (John 10:10). Our aim is for all to find this fullness as individuals, collectively as a church and for this flourishing to be embraced in society.

    Tettenborn thinks I am someone with ‘mental issues’ and unsuitable to be a vicar. All through my time in the Church of England I have faced unnecessary barriers because of my dyslexia. I was not considered capable of much in the Church of England, so I went to work for the Anglican Communion worldwide and ended up solving problems for Archbishops of Canterbury and working alongside primates, bishops, and some of the most impressive lay people imaginable. I have a PhD in theology, I’ve written or edited serious books, advised bishops and archbishops, preached at numerous cathedrals around the world, pioneered effective peace initiatives, inspired successful charities, and, now I am back in parish ministry I am highly regarded -especially by children who love my storytelling.

    Tettenborn thinks it is ‘no disrespect to say to anyone [that is me] that they are not fitted for this role.’ I have my faults – and just like Archbishop Sarah says, dyslexia makes you very aware of your failings – but I have not done badly. I do think it is disrespectful.

    To me, Tettenborn’s article sounds like a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. In response, we should eagerly desire the greater gifts: faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is love and love is kind.

    I didn’t get that from a trendy woke writer – it comes from the heart of the Bible.

  • All Kinds of Minds

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

    If you look at the Agenda for the July General Synod, you will see that on Friday Synod will be asked to support a motion affirming neurodiversity in the life of the church. This is a day of hope.

    Our world is blessed by the diversity of thinking. If we all thought the same way we would not have had the breadth of creativity, insight, and scientific developments that shapes who we are.

    We are all part of this wonderful world of different thinking. We all have a part in a ‘neurodiverse’ world.

    Most of us have brains that work in a way that social scientists have described as ‘neurotypical’. Some of us are ‘neurodivergent’. Collectively, we are neurodiverse.

    ‘Neurodivergence is how we talk about minority ways of processing the world. Neurodivergent minds include, for example: being autistic, ADHD, dyslexic, dyspraxic; having dyscalculia, sensory processing differences, Tourettes, aphantasia, or executive functioning differences. Neurotypicality is how we talk about the majority ways of thinking’.[i]

    Archbishop Sarah is the first Archbishop of Canterbury to be open and confident about her neurodivergence – in her case, dyslexia. She has brought hope to all of us who know we are neurodivergent. In her article for the Autumn 25 edition of the Church of England Newsletter Disability Matters, she spoke of her confidence that we are all called by name by God (Isaiah 43).

    She has been speaking about this for years. In her landmark interview with Kate Griggs of Made by Dyslexia in 2021 – alongside her successor as Chief Nursing Officer and fellow dyslexic Ruth May – she talks about how we are all unique and all made in the image of God.

    Dyslexia is seen in our society as a weakness to be mitigated. When I told a bishop I was dyslexic, he offered his sympathy and offered ways I could be supported. I was offering my gifts; he was treating me as a diminished human being.

    Archbishop Sarah talks about her dyslexic strengths. Dyslexia gives her humility – there is nothing like not being able to spell to bring you down to earth. It is also her source of empathy, emotional intelligence, and her ability to listen. She notes that all these gifts come together in teambuilding. Teambuilding, or ‘connecting’, is one of six key dyslexic skills highlighted in the Made by Dyslexia research.

    As a dyslexic, she doesn’t read her sermons. When she preaches, she engages with the people in front of her, changing her language to ensure she is communicating directly – another key dyslexic skill.

    Archbishop Sarah has not got to where she is today despite her dyslexia: she is there because of it.

    This is important. I had to correct the tribute paid to Benjamin Zephaniah in the Guardian by one of his friends who said that he was a great poet despite his dyslexia. I asked him to listen again to the performance of ‘Dis Poetry’ and recognise that dyslexia was a part of him and essential to what made him great.

    However, there is a darker side. As Chief Nurse, Archbishop Sarah found herself with people who were speculating that dyslexics should be barred from nursing as they may not be accurate in record keeping. Imagine being in the room as this is being discussed. As a bishop, she heard the same question being asked about parish priests; people in the hierarchy were questioning if any dyslexic could be a successful parish priest.

    This is the reality for neurodivergent clergy and laity in the Church of England. We experience shame. We know we have gifts to bring – gifts that are intrinsic to our being – but we are shamed by being judged by things that we are not good at.

    Archbishop Sarah identifies her time on the cathedral staff at Salisbury as her most challenging time. Suddenly the accuracy of reading was considered vital and she found herself judged in a way that she had not been before. The Dean – the wonderful June Osborne – recognised her gifts and gave her the most difficult roles in building relationships in the community, and recognised that what she was good at were precisely those things needed in a bishop.

    In his excellent biography of Archbishop Sarah, Andrew Atherstone gives a very helpful summary of her sermons from that time and notes how often she preached on Jesus’ encounters with outsiders and her emphasis on relationships.[ii] This emphasis is typical of dyslexic preachers. We find in Jesus the one who does not judge us and takes away our shame.

    Shame is immensely powerful. A recent video highlights how many bright and inquisitive children enter school with an excitement to learn and find that schools value neatness, spelling, and order over creativity, excitement in learning, and passion for life. We are told we have a learning difficulty. Dyslexic adults all share stories of being shamed, often humiliated, while at school.

    The good news is that Churches are so often ‘communities of appreciation’[iii]. We welcome and engage people with all kinds of minds. It can be a challenge. The services in my churches have to provide for autistic children who value calm, consistency, and a service that does not overstimulate. Meanwhile, our children with ADHD want excitement, stimulation, and sometimes just need to run from one end of the church to the other. To welcome all requires the ability to listen to what they and their parents – who often share the same neurodivergence, even if it is undiagnosed – have to say. As a church we have to be like Jesus.

    The benefits are huge. We find that, by enabling neurodivergent people – including myself – to speak about our reality, we are welcoming so many people of all ages who find they can finally be honest about who they are and can know that they are loved and accepted.

    However, as an institution the Church of England needs to change. Neurodivergent clergy – and there are a lot of us – share stories of exclusion and humiliation. We are advised not to disclose our divergence when applying for roles and we face barriers throughout our ministry.

    When we first gathered a dyslexic clergy forum in our diocese, many of the older clergy would only come if it was absolutely confidential. When we invited the Bishop of Oxford to our meeting, they would not come. Shame and fear are hard to remove. They believed they would face discrimination and with good evidence.

    This is why Friday’s Synod motion is so important. If it is passed, dioceses will be encouraged to develop inclusive practices and policies which promote the flourishing of neurodivergent people. This will involve training for all that is led and shaped by neurodivergent people themselves. We are calling for each diocese to appoint neurodivergent people as Neurodiversity Champions and we will encourage all churches and church members to listen and respond to the experience of neurodivergent people in their specific local contexts to enable the flourishing of all.

    We know that these are all key elements of change.

    Change is not just for the church. The oppression of neurodivergent people in our society is hidden, but it is real. Ask anyone involved in prisons and they will tell you how many prisoners have dyslexia. One government paper estimates that 50% of prisoners are dyslexic. The paper is intended to shape education in prisons, but does not ask why a dyslexic person is 9 times more likely to go to prison than a neurotypical person. Compare that to the equally unjust reality that you are two to three times as likely to go to prison if you are from a UK Minority Ethnic group (Global Majority) and think about it. Changing the way we think about neurodiversity and then changing our education system could transform lives and society.

    Tim Wyatt’s recent edited collection, Archbishop Sarah Mullally: And ten urgent challenges for the Church of England, did not include neurodiversity as one of those challenges – and barely anyone noticed.

    We hope that if this Synod Motion is acted upon it will produce real and effective change, both within the Church and beyond.

    [i] See the background paper for GS 2444: Neurodiversity – definition point 3.

    [ii] Andrew Atherstone, Archbishop Sarah Mullally: A Biography

    [iii] A term used in the research underlying the Synod Motion; see the appendix to GS 2444.