Category: Human Sexuality

by the Revd Canon Giles Goddard, Chair of the Human Sexuality Group on General Synod

‘There are no problems here, there are simply people’ said the Archbishop of Canterbury at the end of last February’s debate at General Synod. Readers of this blog will be well aware of the debate: the Bishops’ report on Marriage and Same-Sex relationships. The debate was only a year ago – feels to me like another eon!

It was, for me, very refreshing to hear the Archbishop moving the conversation forward within the C of E. For too long, LGBTI+ Christians have been seen as a problem to be solved –  both by the senior hierarchy within the church and by conservative Christians who have often embraced ethically unacceptable approaches such as conversion therapy.

I’ve been involved in these conversations for over thirty years, during which time the debate has gradually morphed;  in the late 1980’s we used to have secret meetings at which people would arrive incognito, with private circulation lists and real fear amongst attenders. Even amongst those who supported us, there was absolutely no doubt that we represented problems to be solved, and there was invariably tension and anger present in the room whenever LGBTI+ issues were discussed.

So the openness and the cross-church engagement which we are now experiencing, and the time and energy going into finding a way forward together – not just among those who want change but also among many who take a conservative position– are very refreshing. And energising.

Today I have a collision of ideas.

The readings set for today are Genesis 17.1-7 and Mark 8.31-38. The liberals among you may need reminding that these are  the renaming of Abram to Abraham and the giving of the covenant by God to him and Sarah, and the Markan call for us to deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Christ.

I have also reread, recently, the wonderful book by Lewis Hyde: The Gift – the ‘classic exploration of the value of giving over receiving.’ It has become clear to me recently that the self-giving love of Jesus at the heart of Christianity is not only right at the heart of our faith but should also be right at the heart of our practice as Christians.

Seems to me that our primary calling is to enable God’s love to be given into the situations in which we find ourselves, so the question we are called to ask is  not ‘what’s in this situation for me, how can I benefit from it?’ but ‘what’s in this situation for other people? How can I ensure that they benefit from it? What can I offer them, as a symbol or sign of God’s love for the world?’

In other words, there are no problems here, there are simply people.

So I am starting to wonder, tentatively, if there isn’t the possibility of reframing the current debate over LGBTI+ inclusion.  I wonder if there isn’t the possibility of seeing those to whom we are traditionally opposed as a gift. And whether we aren’t called to try to be gifts, ourselves.

Perhaps we, who want change, are offering the gift of encouraging the church to reflect on the nature of a good response to the inclusive challenge of the Gospel.  Perhaps those who resist change are offering the gift of encouraging the church to be thankful for the constancy and strength of its traditional witness. And perhaps, together, we can model a generous reflection of God’s self-giving love here in England. Maybe there is the possibility of a mutual exchange of grace.

Pie in the sky? Perhaps. Or perhaps, a faint image of something which might be possible. With God’s help.

by the Revd Dr Jeremy Morris, Master of Trinity Hall, Cambridge

I’m always sceptical of sentences that begin with some such phrase as ‘history teaches us that…’  It’s not that history doesn’t teach us things.  But what it teaches is complicated, and almost always not simply transferable from one situation in the past to the present.  It’s not possible to lift ‘answers’ from the past to the questions of the present.  But it is possible to develop an awareness about ourselves now from study of the past.  As a historian, I find myself time and again returning to the dictum ‘Know your enemies’ – that is, don’t just caricature and malign a position with which you disagree, but really get to grips with it, and understand it from within.  See what its assumptions are and what its logic is – all the better prepared will you be to criticize and counter its arguments.

Practical examples of this are easy to come by, if sometimes apparently shocking.  Don’t just call people racist – try to understand why they think what they think, how they have come to see their identity in a certain way, what they think is lacking in others, and so on.  Don’t just demonize Trump or his supporters – try to work out their griefs, their rage, their ambition, and perhaps even their ideals.  Don’t just assume that all those who defend the gender pay gap, or who fail to protect women adequately in public life, are simply spineless or bigots (I know it’s tempting…) – try to grasp the intricate and often hidden operations of power and prejudice.

Trying to do this with people with whom we disagree in the Church is a trickier matter than you might think.  I suspect that’s because we can all too easily confuse our own good intentions – or at least, our belief in our good intentions – with an unwillingness to face head-on dissenting voices with which we strongly disagree.  People bound together by a belief in a God of love may, paradoxically, find it harder to understand the hostility and disagreement of others, than those unencumbered by any prior moral or religious commitment.

I’m often struck by that thought when I consider the current ethical conflicts in the Church.  Military strategists often talk about ‘asymmetrical conflict’, in which there is a disparity in power or strength between two sides, perhaps through one side’s technological superiority, or its numbers, or its financial muscle, and so on.  But this asymmetry need not be a simple one-sidedness: it might, for example, encompass technological superiority on one side (‘smart’ bombs?) with low-level but deadly weapons (suicide vests?) on the other.

Almost all the Church divisions and disagreements I can think of are essentially asymmetrical.  Take attitudes to homosexuality.  On one side, there are people who might well accept that some people are gay, by nature as it were, but who argue that sexual relationships ought to be, by divine command, restricted to married heterosexual couples.  For them, homosexual sex is essentially a moral matter, for it is a falling short of what God intends for us.  For others, on the contrary, our humanity consists in welcoming and affirming what God has made possible in human nature and society: to condemn homosexual sex is itself to fall short of God’s love for all.  These two positions may profess Christian faith and seem to be in disagreement about one, identifiable thing – homosexual sex – but their disagreement is asymmetrical: they disagree on different grounds, and for different reasons, and with different consequences, and they are unlikely ever to find any final reconciliation.

When moral and religious conflicts are asymmetrical, it is very difficult to see how there could ever be an end to the argument.  Of course, in practice one position might die in the course of time – practically what happened, for example, to arguments against evolution on this side of the Atlantic.  Is that what might happen to traditionalist arguments over sexuality?  Or one side might effectively crush the opposition – out-shout and out-publish it, defeat it in assembly, drive out its proponents from their positions, and so on.  Could that one day happen in the Church of England?  Neither outcome seems likely.  But what does not seem to be in prospect is some kind of unifying, transcending position – a position which all concerned will recognize and accept, so that their disagreements will come to be seen as minor or unimportant wrangles and their opposing positions will be drawn together and mutually affirmed in some all-encompassing synthesis.

That’s why the talk of ‘agreeing to disagree’ in the end can be a kind of illusion – if, that is, we think that simply saying that is enough to allow us all to live together in peace.  We can live together in courtesy, but there’s always an implicit and unresolved tension.  For those who oppose homosexual sex, it would be a fatal moral compromise.  And for those who do not, although they may think it is easy to welcome ‘in love’ those who oppose them on this matter, in practice what they are asking is that their opponents fail to carry through the natural conclusions of their moral disapproval.

So we ought to be clear that there is no united way forward on this, as perhaps on other conflicted issues.  All there can be – at least as a bare minimum – is a set of operational rules, or courtesies, by which we try to contain the explosive consequences of our own disagreements, and work together, despite our clear differences, in the hope that some greater wisdom might ultimately emerge, and we will eventually come to see our own and others’ views differently.  That has to be done out of utter conviction in the truth of the position we defend – in other words, it has to be done as we try to convince our opponents they are wrong –  but with the open and honest commitment to ‘know our enemies’ as best as we can.

by the Revd Canon Giles Goddard, Chair of the Human Sexuality Group on General Synod

There is a story about two monks – one Dominican and the other Jesuit. In the days when people smoked on every possible occasion (see The Crown for examples!), the Dominican went to see his confessor.  ‘Father,’ he said, ‘Is it alright if I smoke while I pray?’  ‘Certainly not,’ said the confessor. ‘That would be most inappropriate.’  Then the Jesuit went to see his confessor. ‘Father,’ he said, ‘is it alright if I pray while I smoke?’ ‘Of course,’ said the confessor. ‘That would sanctify the act.’

Presentation is everything. And the House of Bishops has just, once again, missed an opportunity to present itself – and the Church of England – in a positive light. It has, once again, displayed a cloth ear on questions of sexuality and gender. And it has, once again, ignored the will and the request of General Synod.

Readers of this blog will be aware of the motion which was strongly supported by General Synod last July, requesting the House to consider whether some nationally commended liturgical materials might be prepared to mark a person’s gender transition.’ They will also be aware that, this week, it has become clear that  ‘the House would like to encourage ministers to respond to any such requests in a creative and sensitive way. If not already received, baptism and confirmation are the normative ways of marking a new or growing faith in Jesus Christ. If the enquirer is already baptized and confirmed, the House notes that the Affirmation of Baptismal Faith, found in Common Worship, is an ideal liturgical rite which trans people can use to mark this moment of personal renewal.’

This is inadequate on so many levels. The Affirmation of Baptismal Faith does not allow for the adoption of a new name or a newly gendered identity¹. To squeeze the liturgy to make it fit such a purpose would be hard – it would sound like a patched together piece of work, rather than a seamless and exciting whole, created specially for the occasion.

How hard would it have been to have listened to the request of Synod and asked the Liturgical Commission to come up with something? Not very – and I am sure that there are many on the Liturgical Commission who would be delighted to accept the challenge, and to consult widely with trans people about what they would like to see.  Further, I have been told on good authority that the issue was not ‘considered prayerfully by the House of Bishops’ but was dealt with by a subcommittee which made a brief recommendation – to the dismay of many members of the House.

It’s another shot into the C of E’s foot. It’s a particularly wasted opportunity in the light of the delight – and surprise – which greeted the passing of the motion last July.

The damage is done, and no amount of spin from Church House can undo it. But it’s not too late to change course.  I hope the House of Bishops will reconsider this position, and request the Liturgical Commission to work with trans people and Synod members to produce a liturgy, as requested. Lex orandi, lex credendi; how we pray is how we believe. Do we really believe that trans people are welcome in church in their new identities? If so, it’s not an impossible task to craft a liturgy which says so.

¹  This paragraph was updated on January 26th 2018

by the Revd Dr Hayley Matthews, Director of Lay Training, Leeds Diocese

‘I just can’t cope!”.

Most of us, I’m sure, will have felt like this at some time or other.  Times when we just wanted everything and everyone to go away because we couldn’t cope with all that was going on.  For some those times are fleeting, but for others the litany of suffering that they have to face or live with can seem not just unfair but unbearable.

I recall listening to the mother who had lost her only child and who felt that she simply had no desire to live any longer; to the cancer patient who was told of her diagnosis on the telephone an hour before the police knocked on her door to tell her that her son had been killed in a motorbike accident and all this just a week after her husband had died from cancer. How does one face such unbearable suffering?

I’m left wondering, however, if there isn’t a more pernicious type of ‘not coping’ that many of us are succumbing to?  In June 2017 the NHS published record figures for the use of antidepressants with 64 million prescriptions costing £266 million – a seven-fold increase in twenty-five years!  It is likely that the majority of these people are being prevented from feeling the true depths of their pain by the medication they are taking (although I recognise for some it is about chemical imbalances, and for others it is a good deal more complicated than that). Consequently, many people on anti-depressants may continue living exactly the same life that has been driving them to the depths, medicated to a level that enables them to continue doing the very things that are so often making them truly unhappy.

We are creatures of habit. We stick to what we know even it is killing us. So, we continue working in jobs we cannot bear because we feel we must live in a show-home or a city apartment, or maybe we simply haven’t got the courage or motivation to make the break.  We stay in relationships that drive us to despair for the sake of… there are so many things we could complete that sentence with. We continue to live in a place that is stressful whether that be beside a noisy bottle bank, frightening neighbours or in complete isolation. We completely fail to find time to think, rest, breathe, enjoy a hobby, listen to music, cook. Then throw in a dash of social media – virtual friends making virtual promises with virtual words that are virtually useless when you really need them.

Yes of course there are economic pressures that so many of us face, as well as health challenges or bereavement which can significantly depress us.  But the truth is that this can normally be faced and walked through if the rest of life is “as it should be”.

For many of us, however, it really is not – there are so many tiny little things that mean that every day in a hundred minuscule ways life is not enjoyable, not refreshing, not awe-inspiring, not energising, not worthwhile. And because each of these things seems insignificant in and of itself, we don’t think to change them. We’re fear we’re making a fuss about nothing, surely? Add to these cumulative daily depressants from adverts telling us that we are too fat, too bald, ageing. Or the adverts that tells us we need a new car, more furniture, a bigger house, longer, thicker, blacker eyelashes and enormous eyebrows; more life insurance a fabulous partner, a cruise. Every day in every way we are being told we are not enough just as we are.

Depressing, isn’t it?

I was talking yesterday to a man I’d never met before who – like me – had recovered from life changing cancer treatment some years before. We found we had a number of things in common and one of those was having faced our own mortality. We laughed together as we described our new attitude to life and saw the surprise on fellow diners’ faces. There were so many things we simply didn’t put up with anymore. So many things we had stopped doing, changed, left behind – even people. There were other things we now spent time doing, enjoyed, tried, tested out for the sheer pleasure of it, or challenges we took on that we wouldn’t have dared beforehand. We both felt that we were truly living. We talked about the way facing one’s own death profoundly alters one’s perspective, of how it is almost impossible to feel the same stresses that one felt before because now they seem so insignificant as to be nonsensical.

As a Christian I was struck that despite our faith prior to our near-death experiences we too had succumbed to the culture of being a human doing instead of a human being. That we had placed productivity before relationships which is more than a little ironic for those who worship a God who makes a fairly big deal out of the Sabbath principle, fallow years and years of Jubilee. That we had taken on the mantle of suffering silently through all sorts of mini depressants and stressors instead of changing a single one of them believing ourselves to be doing the right thing.  We had allowed these things to shape our daily lives and in some instances, to define us. Both of us described having allowed ridiculous levels of stress to enter our lives in multiple ways.

Christ’s incarnation as a new born baby reveals a dependence in the divine nature upon external, human contact and context, but the Divine does not allow that to define who He is. Jesus refuses to bow to political and societal pressures in many and varied ways – a good Jewish boy, unmarried? Oi vey! He grows into the fullness of Himself even when His own mother and brothers are saying (and I paraphrase), ‘what on earth are you doing? Have you lost the plot?’ Jesus refuses to submit to a life of mini deaths choosing life time after time after time. He walks through His pain, weeping, crying out, surrendering His body even to death itself yet even death cannot quench the Divine Life that springs up into eternity.

It is a Life that begins when we start actively choosing life in the smallest of ways, in each day, repeatedly. A life free from the drugs that keep us taking another pointless step on the road to nowhere. A life that will sustain us when real tragedy hits, as it surely will. A life that will allow us to die peacefully knowing that we have truly lived.

A life that is divine.

by the Revd Canon Giles Goddard, Chair of the Human Sexuality Group on General Synod

I dreamt last night that I had an altercation with the Archbishop of Canterbury. About progress on LGBTI inclusion in the church. I’m not sure what that says about my subconscious – perhaps my mind was preparing for this blog, or perhaps I’m just a little bit sad – but it did prompt me to ask myself what sort of progress, if any, has been made over the past year.

I’m going to stick my neck out and say that those of us working for full equality have made a great deal of progress. In February, after much careful planning and close coordination of different groups, Synod voted not to take note of the House of Bishops’ report on marriage and same-sex relations. The vote against the motion came from across the spectrum of church tradition; readers of Via Media were crucial in making it happen.

Full disclosure: I’m Chair of the General Synod Human Sexuality Group which was a key voice in the opposition. But, whatever my role, I think the significance of that vote is still working its way through the Church of England. It changed the terms of the discussion. No longer, we said, can you talk about us without us. And my experience of our active participation in the Coordination Group for the House of Bishops’ Teaching Document is a sign that the call for change was heard.

The battle is by no means over. I have heard many stories over the past year of continued discrimination on the grounds of human sexuality within the Church, and I am very aware of the reality and determination of the opposition. But I am also sure that we have been helped by the antics of the conservatives.  I am writing this shortly after Roy Moore lost the election in Alabama, despite the support of nearly all the white evangelicals in his state. While I am careful not to claim a direct connection between the bile spewed by Moore and people in the UK, it is clear to me that that some white evangelical views in the UK are on a spectrum with those we hear from Christian supporters of Donald Trump.   Don’t forget that Franklin Graham has been invited to lead a mission in Blackpool.

A member of my church – a young, bright, new Christian – recently attended one of the leading conservative evangelical churches in London; she was, not to put too fine a point on it, repelled. She wondered how that church could consider itself Anglican – her experience of its preaching and teaching were deeply at odds with what she had learnt of the Church of England.  Last week, too, we saw the irregular ordinations by AMiE; the same week as the Alabama elections, a nice coincidence in timing.

What, then, does the future hold? What are my hopes for 2018?

We have a big challenge, as LGBTI Christians in the Church of England. That challenge is the challenge of grace.  One of the biggest reasons I have remained Anglican is because of our particular charism of breadth and inclusion. As LGBTI Christians working hard to help to C of E reform, we have a huge responsibility – to ensure that the grace-filled breadth of the C of E is maintained and strengthened.  Nearly all the most committed members of my congregation – me included – have deep roots within the evangelical tradition. We must celebrate that and work closely with those who wish to see the best of evangelical faith flourish within the church.

And we have a wider responsibility than that – because the Reign of God embraces everyone.  As a former chair of Inclusive Church I am continually challenged. What are those of us who put time and energy into LGBTI inclusion doing, to help ensure that others shut out by the church’s structures are fully welcome?

We also have an infinite responsibility to the whole of humanity, and the planet we live on. Half my extracurricular time is spent on LGBTI work. The other half is on climate change, which is in all sorts of ways already affecting, especially, poor people. Anyone who watched Blue Planet II will be even more aware of the urgency of environmental issues.

So, for 2018, I want to see the movement for inclusion continue to build and continue to deepen, reaching into every corner of the church’s life.

In preparing for this blog I came across a thought-provoking and challenging  article by Daniel José Comacho; ‘How Martin Luther King’s political vision became politically irrelevant.’   I encourage you to read the whole thing; it recalls the radical openness of Dr King’s vision and calls for a renovation of his commitment to re-making society.  Comacho quotes this extract from one of Dr. King’s last speeches:

“Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable. Even a superficial look at history reveals that no social advance rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. Every step towards the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals…This is no time for apathy or complacency. This is a time for vigorous and positive action.”