ViaMedia

Category: Human Sexuality

  • Essential Doctrines, Essential Hierarchies

    by David W. Congdon, senior editor at the University Press of Kansas. His most recent book, Who Is a True Christian? Contesting Religious Identity in American Culture, is available now from Cambridge University Press.

    For outsiders like me trying to make sense of the Church of England’s recent Synod debates over Living in Love and Faith (LLF), the official church resources on identity, sexuality, relationships, and marriage, and the corresponding Prayers of Love and Faith (PLF) that are seeking to make the church a more inclusive space without changing canon law, the last half-year has been rather bewildering. With another General Synod coming up on 5–9 July, the bishops are once again preparing for another round of debates over the church’s relationship to LGBTQ+ persons.

    The conversations are of interest to me as an American, not only because of my affiliation with the Episcopal Church, but because I wrote about the Church of England’s views on trans identity in my recent book, Who Is a True Christian? Contesting Religious Identity in American Culture (Cambridge University Press, 2024). I devoted one section of my book to the way Anglican theologians—especially Oliver O’Donovan and N. T. Wright—connected trans identity to gnosticism, showing how their rhetoric has influenced, however unintentionally, American evangelicals and far-right conservative activists. I argue that conservative Anglicans and American conservatives form a “discourse coalition,” meaning they participate in a shared discourse that associates transgender persons (and LGBTQ+ persons more generally) with heresy.

    O’Donovan’s views were given official sanction in the 2003 Church of England document, Some Issues in Human Sexuality, and one significant aspect of the LLF materials is the effort to replace the theological certainty of the old guidelines with a new approach “marked by provisionality and humility, recognising that we are in a time of corporate not-knowing, where mystery remains as to our humanity and how we are to live our lives in a world that we do not always understand, and where God often acts in surprising ways” (GS2328, LLF Annex H, 4). This in itself is something worth celebrating—but many internal tensions remain.

    While the attempted association of trans identity with gnosticism was problematic for a number of reasons—including a misunderstanding of both gnosticism and gender dysphoria, among other things—I was most interested in the way it assumed an ahistorical and timeless understanding of doctrine and ecclesial identity. Gnosticism, if such a term has any meaning, referred to various ancient sects that understood God to be so transcendent that a demiurge was necessary to bridge the infinite Most High with the finite cosmos. Once unmoored from its original historical setting, with its corresponding metaphysics, a term like “gnosticism” quickly becomes a rhetorical weapon that one can use against almost anyone and anything that one wishes to brand as “anti-Christian.” And that is precisely what has happened in North America, and especially the United States.

    The conservative political theorist Eric Voegelin (1901–1985) claimed that gnosticism is “the essence of modernity,” while the Canadian Presbyterian pastor Philip J. Lee asserted in his Against the Protestant Gnostics (1987) that gnosticism is essential to American Protestantism. In 1992 the conservative Presbyterian scholar Peter R. Jones published The Gnostic Empire Strikes Back: An Old Heresy for the New Age, where he blamed gnosticism for environmentalism, feminism, and homosexuality. More recently, American evangelical theologian Peter Leithart warned of “invasive Gnosticism” in the government prohibitions against transgender discrimination. The Catholic natural law theorist and Princeton University professor Robert P. George declared in 2016 that all modern social liberalism stems from gnosticism. The atheist and right-wing activist James Lindsay attributes all “woke” identity politics, especially LGBTQ+ identity, to gnosticism. This past week, conservative evangelical radio host Erick Erickson published his new book, You Shall Be as Gods: Pagans, Progressives, and the Rise of the Woke Gnostic Left.

    While Church of England leaders no doubt want nothing to do with this bigoted, antiliberal rhetoric, my concern here is, in part, to highlight the danger of letting our theological concepts run free of any historical context. Moreover, it is not enough to keep our “heresies” grounded in history; we also need to keep our “orthodoxies” historically rooted as well. And this is where the current LLF runs into trouble.

    The supplementary annexes for GS2328 include explanations of the thought process behind the new guidelines, including the theological rationale. A consistent theme throughout is demonstrating how the new PLF remains consistent with Canon B5’s requirement that “all variations in forms of service and all forms of service used under this Canon shall be reverent and seemly and shall be neither contrary to, nor indicative of any departure from, the doctrine of the Church of England in any essential matter” (emphasis mine). If the definition of “essential matter” seems impossibly vague, the bishops and clergy readily acknowledge as much. Annex A points out that the words “in any essential matter” were included in the Church of England (Worship and Doctrine) Measure 1974 (No. 3, Section 4), and that there was a proposal to omit these words on the grounds that they “seemed otiose and it would be difficult to decide what matters were essential.” Indeed! In response, the Revision Committee for the Measure retained the phrase on the grounds that “if they were omitted it became equally difficult to determine what issues were or were not contrary to or indicative of any departure from the doctrine of the Church of England” (Annex A, #19). This makes little sense, however, since the mere word “essential” hardly gives any guidance on what doctrines count as essential. It only empowers those in the church to fight about it. A further explanation stated that these words “enable the Synod to make small changes in matters which are regarded as doctrinal, provided that the essential doctrines of the Church of England are safeguarded” (Annex A, #20)—a circular claim if there ever was one.

    Annex A seeks to reassure the conservative wing by stating in a matter-of-fact manner: “We consider that the essential doctrines of the Church of England are safeguarded” (Annex A, #25). What counts as an “essential doctrine”? The question naturally follows from the wording of the Worship and Doctrine Measure, and yet we look in vain for any guidance. The LLF documents all assume that the “doctrine of marriage” is one of these essential doctrines, but the grounds for this assumption remain opaque. The Theological Rationale in Annex H acknowledges that some in the General Synod view marriage as “a secondary matter, because it does not touch essential beliefs as reflected in the creeds,” but then responds to this by saying, “we disagree.” If asked about which doctrines are essential, the average Anglican would almost certainly point to the Nicene Creed, where of course we will find nothing pertaining to marriage and sexuality. Even the Thirty-Nine Articles mention marriage only in the context of stating that priests are permitted to marry (Art. 32). So on what basis do the other bishops and clergy make marriage as essential to the church as the doctrine of incarnation?

    Even if we allow for marriage to be an essential doctrine, the alterations and adjustments to this doctrine make it difficult to sustain the conviction that the essence has not changed. Annex H provides a rather remarkable history of the ways the “doctrine of marriage” has been modified, in what it says are admittedly “significant” ways. These include accommodating divorce and remarriage, removing the claim that marriage is a “remedy for sin,” embracing the use of contraception, and allowing for couples to live together in sexual union before committing to marriage. Perhaps most important is “the move away from the primacy of procreation and increasingly making room for the expression of sexuality as a good” (Annex H, 7). Procreation is one of the three “goods” of marriage as defined by Augustine of Hippo in his famous treatise on the matter. If this does not count as an essential change in the doctrine of marriage, it is hard to know what does. Another significant change is the ethical requirement of “consent, both to the marriage and within marriage,” which broke with the patriarchal paradigm of marriage as a property transaction toward a recognition of both spouses as equal agents. As a result, “marital rape is now recognised and condemned, in law and in the church, which again marks a significant change in how sexuality, marriage, and gender relationships are conceived of” (Annex H, 8). Significant, but apparently not essential.

    The authors of Annex H correctly observe that “teaching on marriage does not just reflect theology and Scripture, but the interaction of theology and liturgy with wider cultural mores, whether consciously, or not” (Annex H, 8). This recognition that culture and history play an indispensable role in constructing and interpreting the teachings of the church sits in uneasy tension with the notion of “essential doctrine.” Even the most essential doctrines, like incarnation and trinity, are not immune to cultural and historical changes. The metaphysical assumptions of even the most conservative Anglicans today are radically different from those held by the bishops who gathered at Nicaea in the fourth century. Our creeds and doctrines give the illusion of being in unchanged continuity with the past because we say the same words (though even this is not technically true, since we are working in translation), when the reality is that the historical context, including our assumptions about divinity and our mental picture of the cosmos, gives these words a substantially different meaning.

    To their credit, the authors of Annex H acknowledge the problem I am raising here: “Some have asked, quite appropriately, whether routine accommodation/provision then becomes a de facto change in doctrine. The challenge has some weight: doctrine is not simply produced by official pronouncements but in an iterative process of dialogue between conceptual formulation and embodiment in practice.” Their response to this question is to claim that “pastoral accommodation” has always been part of the church, and—here is the crucial point—they do not want to give up “on the idea of a proper or fuller configuration of relationships altogether” (Annex H, 17).

    Put another way, the Church of England leadership still wants to say there is a normative way to be human—a “proper” or “full” form of life that is superior to other forms that deviate from this norm. Without saying so, the bishops still hold on to a moral hierarchy, much like Augustine and others throughout church history. The only difference is they have switched out who is at the top of the hierarchy. For Augustine and most everyone in the ancient church, unmarried celibate Christian men were at the pinnacle of the moral ladder. Today’s Church of England places straight monogamous married Christians at the top. The ladder is a lot longer now and accommodates many more people in the higher rungs than it used to, but there is still a ladder.

    We are now in a position to understand what is essential about essential doctrines. The essence is not any particular doctrine or interpretation of doctrine. As we have seen, these can change in quite drastic ways without apparently violating the “essence.” Instead, the essence is the normative hierarchy itself that places some Christians closer to the divine rule than others. If there is a universal truth to be found here, it is this: whenever churches talk about “essential doctrines” or “essential matters,” they are constructing the rhetorical framework for reinforcing social hierarchies.

    “At the beginning of the twentieth century,” according to the Living in Love and Faith book, “the Church of England still had a clear, global hierarchical structure that stretched across much of the world” (Chapter 7, 147). Much has changed since then. But if the emphasis on “essential doctrine” is any indication, a certain nostalgia for “a clear, global hierarchical structure” remains.

    Living in Love and Faith represents genuine progress in the Church of England. But if the goal is to create the conditions for a more just and equitable commonwealth, then it is not enough to change the church’s essential doctrines. The church needs to rethink its adherence to the essence itself.

  • Lovingly Hated

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

     

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Between Meaning and Despair: A Generous Faith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    There was a silence.

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

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

    A silence.

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

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

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

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

    A voice says, ‘Cry out!’

    And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’

    All people are grass,

    their constancy is like the flower of the field.

    The grass withers, the flower fades,

    when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;

    surely the people are grass. (Isa. 40.6)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

  • The Whole of Who We Are

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

     

  • PRIDE: More than Sparkling Spandex

    by the Very Revd David Monteith, Dean of Canterbury

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

     

  • Queering the Church: The Theological and Ecclesial Potential of Failure

    by Dr Penelope Doe, University of Exeter

    July General Synod approaches and the interminable conversations on LLF and PLF continue. It’s over 10 years since The Pilling Report was published, launching Diocesan Shared Conversations amongst other conversations at Synod and elsewhere. I read Pilling when it was first published, was a little surprised by how superficial I found it, and was intrigued by the tension on display between provisionality and certainty. Its hermeneutics, like those of the CoE as an institution embodying authority power, privilege, and the unalloyed goods of progress, became the subject of my PhD and now my recently published book, Queering the Church: the Theological and Ecclesial Potential of Failure.

    This is, I think, the first time that the hermeneutics of an institution have been interrogated using queer theory and disruptive readings of the Church’s neoliberal models of growth and success, alhough Charlie Bell makes a similar challenge to ecclesial models of hegemonic normativity presented as gospel truth in his recent book, Queering Redemption (Darton, Longman and Todd, 2024). Queering the Church uses Pilling as a paradigm of the ways in which churches construct authority, success and progressiveness, and embody power and privilege. Far from eschewing the liberal secular societies of the Global North, the Church has readily embraced their neoliberal identities and practices.

    What do I mean by queer/queering as a methodology? Queer is better figured, perhaps, as a verb rather than as a noun; a doing rather than a being. Since queer theory is disruptive, transgressive, and troubling, it can have no definitive logic, discourse, or end. David Halperin apprehends queer’s slipperiness in his statement that the concept owns no stable reality:

    Queer is by definition whatever is at odds with the normal, the legitimate the dominant. There is nothing in particular to which it necessarily refers. It is an identity without an essence. ‘Queer’, then, demarcates not a positivity but a positionality vis-à-vis the normative – a positionality that is not restricted to lesbians and gay men but is in fact available to anyone who is or who feels marginalized because of her or his sexual practices; it could include some married couples with children… (Saint Foucault, OUP, 1997)

    I often find queer theory richer and more disruptive than queer theology. My two main conversation partners in the book are Jack Halberstam, whose Queer Art of Failure provided a methodology for queering the church, and  Karen Bray whose work on a Theology for the Unredeemed (Grave Attending, Fordham University Press, 2019) suggested Holy Saturday as a site of queer temporality in which the church could learn to experience the abnegation and alterity of that liminal day, as queer people have often been coerced into the acceptance of liminality in a heteronormative church. As for that motif of failure as a ‘queer art’, it derives from Halberstam’s book which posits failure as a kind of ‘victory’ for those who fall outside the cisheteronormative models enforced by neoliberal patterns of success and progress.

    First, what can Halberstam’s work offer us? By adopting the potential of failure as a means of que(e)rying the hegemonic assumptions of church reports and report writers, the Church of England might be able to embrace those whom Halberstam calls ‘the incoherent, the lonely, the defeated and the melancholic’. The Pilling Report and its ‘afterlife’ showcase mostly those voices whose authority derives from the hegemonic norms of neoliberal ideas of progress and success. Such norms are represented as Christian, often as traditional or orthodox Christianity. These prevailing ways of knowing disregard the possibilities suggested by the failure of progress, success, knowing, agreeing, and predominating.

    The institutional life of church reports and debates, which is predicated on the belief in the unassailability of church polity, could, perhaps, seek for ways of knowing outside this dominant framework. Rather than ‘success’ and ‘progress’, failure’s art embraces the queer hope of unbecoming, undoing, unknowing; the ways of negativity, passivity and immaturity. Halberstam focuses on what Foucault calls ‘subjugated knowledge’ – cultural understandings that have been regarded as childish and foolish notions of possibility. It is, perhaps, ironic that a religion that enjoins its followers to be childlike has such a problem with the radical and anarchic potentialities of childishness. Failure and negativity can be redemptive.

    The academic or quasi-academic language of church reports and debates acts as a gatekeeper for this discourse, making access difficult for those who do not ‘speak’ the scholarly or ecclesial vernacular. Halberstam’s appeal to the silliness and childishness of some subcultures and popular culture reminds us that meaning is made outside ‘proper’ knowledge in failure, forgetfulness, wandering and improvisation. But if we dwell in the ‘queer temporality’ of Holy Saturday, the prospect of resolution is tenuous and uncertain. Failure and the almost fugue state of Holy Saturday are the suggestive ‘solutions’ I offer to the peculiarly intractable ‘issues’ that sexuality, or rather homosexuality, poses for the church.

    As for Bray, her political theology borrows from the Holy Saturday theologies of remaining explored in Shelly Rambo’s Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining (Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), using the mystical theology of Hans Urs von Balthasar and Adrienne von Speyr exploring the meaning of the wordless and abandoned ‘middle’ between the cross and the resurrection. Speyr’s mystical revelations began in the Holy Week of 1941 and continued until her death in 1967. Christ’s descent into Hell was presented not as a triumphant rescue of lost souls, but as an experience of experiencing utter abandonment by the Father.

    Balthasar and Speyr both saw Holy Saturday as timeless, a space where redemption is begun in a tiny drop of love, originating in Christ’s wound that will blossom and fruit: ‘This residue of love is not powerful but weary and impotent. Its movement suggests that death does not fully govern it’.

    Holy Saturday is (also) a Wordless space since the Word made Flesh is, according to Balthasar and Speyr’s mystical theology, now dead. Forsaken by His Father, the Son enters into a condition of suffering and separation, of passivity and failure: ‘the Father and the Son are from the furthest reaches of each other in Hell’. In this vision of Holy Saturday, not only does the Son take on our suffering on the Cross, but also He descends into Hell where He endures alongside the dead and damned; there is nowhere now that God has not entered and no condition, however perilous, that God has not inhabited.

    This concept of Holy Saturday as a Wordless space – a site of absence and failure – could be a model for the Church of England’s engagement with the troubled waters of sexuality and gender. Non-normative sexualities and genders are not in themselves ‘troubles’ to be solved, but the number of reports and debates on homosexuality are evidence that they ‘trouble’ the Church. The Church of England’s response to what it views as aberrant ways of being human can itself be ‘troubled’ (or queered) in the queer temporality of Holy Saturday rupturing the cisheteronormative utopias that the Church creates and that deny – or attempt to elide – their queer beginnings.

    Holy Saturday, this ‘middle’ day, is a Wordless site in which the Church of England can remain without anticipating the certainties and realisations of Easter day. Even in its paschal liturgies, the Church seems too eager to rush from the agony and failure of the crucifixion to the joy of the resurrection without pausing to experience both the abandonment and the exiguous hope of Holy Saturday. Following the death of a naked and tortured Messiah and bereft, therefore, of hope, the Church must encounter and admit failure, so that even if rescue comes, the experience of failure will always form a part of salvation. But the Church of England baulks at the prospect, or even at the possibility of failure.

    If those who produce church reports could only enter the queer temporality of this ‘middle’ day, they could face the rupture of all their certainties, encountering a provisionality that does not expect the traditional answers. They might see negativity, not as a negation of the orthodox, but as an empty space that follows the rupture of the normative. Abiding in the desolation of Holy Saturday requires, in Bray’s terms, a ‘grave attending’ to different ‘becomings’; to how ‘transformation’ and ‘living obedience’ might work out for the unredeemed. In Grave Attending (p.31) Bray writes:

    Current discourses on queer temporality seek to examine the ways in which heteronormativity and white supremacy fortify the neoliberal political economy. Many queer theorists uncover the resonance between the demand to be a productive member of society and the manipulated desire to be a reproductive member of the heteronormative family. Such demands nurture in us an optimistic belief that the straighter and whiter we become, the happier we will be. This cruelly optimistic promise (to borrow from Berlant) impedes alternate desires of community, family and self.

    I want to use the uncertainty, provisionality and, indeed, failure of Holy Saturday as a site for queering the hermeneutic and teleological assumptions of church discourses produced by a stable, influential, neoliberal institution – the Church of England – that reflects the values of resilience, productivity and growth promoted by the market. For Bray (p.27), grave attending is

    a style of life that does not wait for resurrection as much as it tries to remain with a difference on the day after damage and death. It does not and cannot rush toward redemption out of the gravity of such damage, because it is attendant to the damage of those who, in the wake of our resurrective impulses, we have let drown.

    It is not those crucified by neoliberalist ethics – which Bray describes as ‘heteropatriarchal, ableist and white supremacist’ – who need to inhabit the queer temporality of Holy Saturday, even though it is a site in which queer folk are often required to suffer simply because their bodies are figured by some churches and by some Christians as unredeemed. It is the Church, as an institution, which needs to be gravely attentive and to experience its queer temporality, rather than those who may already have suffered ecclesial trauma. Being able freely to inhabit a site of suffering and failure requires a level of privilege not always afforded to those whose lives are marked as unproductive or liminal. As I write in the conclusion:

    I want to end with the hope that, by troubling the waters of ecclesial discourse on (homo)sexuality, I have indicated a site – a place of desertion – where the Church of England might reflect on the art of unknowing, undoing, unbecoming; on the ‘queer art of failure’.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Time to be Civil about Marriage

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

    Well, here we go again then.

    In the next few months – in an eerie echo of the same months exactly a year ago – the Church of England will once again be asking small groups to sit down and discuss queer people’s lives and loves. Despite the fact that the draft Prayers of Love and Faith have been sitting ready to go for almost a year, and despite the fact that an almost final draft of the Pastoral Guidance permitting clergy equal marriage has similarly been sitting ready to go for almost a year, the feet-dragging nature of the church’s response to love has once again been on full display. If in doubt, set up a subgroup, and so here we are, with yet more subgroups, asking exactly the same questions, and promising a solution by July.

    It would be a foolhardy House of Bishops that suggested a further delay in July – many LGBTQIA clergy and their allies are close to civil disobedience, along with an increasing recognition by a number of bishops that the current situation is not only untenable but deeply unjust. Yet it is clear that the sticking point on much of the negotiations is not the Prayers of Love and Faith, and their ‘legal route’, however much noise is being made about this by rather tiresome bloggers, but clergy discipline. The real nub of this is whether faithful, committed, partnered clergy can enter what they personally believe to be, but what the church corporately does not yet receive as, marriage, and whether the church is empowered to continue to ask prurient and weird questions about their bedroom antics.

    It does sometimes appear to be the case that those doing and promoting the work on LLF have forgotten that there are actually (despite everything) LGBTQIA people in the church. When the Programme Board was first announced, there was not a single (out) LGBTQIA person on it, and similarly you needed a microscope to find the LGBTQIA people in the small groups (something which has been, to some degree, mitigated thanks to some of us spotting it!). For all the warm words and the ‘apology’, the mode of operation of the Church of England has resolutely not changed on all this; it’s frankly not good enough, and it’s rather grating when compared to the way other minoritized groups are increasingly treated. There seems to be a wilful determination to keep LGBTQIA people out of the frame, and hence to condemn the process to an endless procession of unforced errors. LGBTQIA people remain, apparently, acceptably ignored.

    There are plenty of us LGBTQIA folk who are really willing this process, and its leadership, to succeed, despite everything – yet we are treated as though our involvement would somehow infect it with queerness. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but in seriousness there needs to be a step change in the way the Church of England engages with us if it is to gain even a modicum of trust. People like me would be perfectly happy to look over press releases and point out the obvious issues, and indeed people far more qualified and senior than me, who are themselves ‘openly’ LGBTQIA (a term reserved, it seems, almost solely for the church in the modern world), should be invited to be part and parcel of the decision-making processes rather than merely advising it from the side-lines. There remains far too much being done about us, and not with us, and until that changes, the Church of England is displaying that it has learnt precisely nothing about its institutional queerphobia.

    Which brings us back to clergy marriage. From all the whingeing and whining, you’d think that the people this most matters to are those who oppose ‘sexual intimacy’ (as yet undefined) amongst queer people, but perhaps we might just reset the dial and remember that the key stakeholders here are queer people themselves. We have heard the usual delaying clarion call of ‘we need to do more theology’ on this time and time again, and we have heard all the handwringing about the conscience of bishops, yet we have – it appears – infrequently actually listened to and thought about the impact of the current pernicious, institutional and structural violence of the current position of the church for actual, real live, queer people.

    The level of pastoral ineptitude and lack of practicality found in the House of Bishops’ ‘Pastoral Guidance’ [sic] issued on Valentine’s Day 2014 is rivalled only by the disgraceful way that this has been implemented over the past decade. Absolutely no recognition has been given to the fact that the distinction between Civil Partnerships and Civil Marriage is not present in every jurisdiction, leading to clergy in Europe, for example, facing a choice between basic next of kin rights and their licences. Clergy from Anglican provinces overseas or our other communion partners, where equal marriage is not only permitted but required for clergy in same-sex relationships, have been prevented from offering their ministry in the Church of England in an extraordinary display of arrogant inflexibility on behalf of ‘mother church’. It is interesting, of course, that it’s only the queer married clergy who are blocked, and not the straight clergy, including bishops, who have been doing the marriage services – you really don’t have to look far for institutional queerphobia.

    Yet, finally, it seems that this pernicious nonsense is about to end, and not before time. There is now a clear way forward that brings the Church of England back to a position more true to itself – generous hospitality. We appreciate that we are not all going to agree on whether same-sex unions are marriage or not, perhaps for some time, yet we are part of a church and a communion in which a variety of perspectives are held entirely within the mainstream.

    In many ways, this is just a case of recognising facts. As yet – and it is only a matter of time – the Church of England corporately does not recognise the essence, dare I say sacramentality, of the marital in same-sex marriages. That’s actually where the distinction lies – not between the civil and the church (the marriage-matrimony idea), but in the anatomy of the participants. There are also, however, a number of queer clergy who want to enter into such a vowed state that is recognised as such by the State, and indeed by many churches that presently come to a different conclusion about this than appears to be the case in the Church of England. Some of them will want to do that in a civil ceremony, and others before God (indeed, in ceremonies in which God can actually be mentioned) in a church where such marriages can be celebrated.

    Neither of those options changes anything about the Church of England’s own position on what it holds to be marital. Clergy are not entering into marriage lightly – they’re doing so because they believe it to be part of their growth in holiness. The church has accepted – and indeed encouraged – clergy entering into Civil Partnerships, and the result of making a similar decision on marriage is absolutely no different from the church’s perspective, given the Church of England institutionally continues to refuse recognise such marriages as full fat marriage. The only difference it will actually make is to queer clergy – and it’s about time that happened, and the cruelty ended.

    Incidentally, this is not about press-ganging into marriage. For traditionalist Society clergy who are worried they might be forced to marry their same-sex partners, this is plain and simple scaremongering nonsense, often delivered to you by hierarchs in order to scare you into playing ball. Nobody is being forced into same-sex marriages, queer or otherwise, but the option is simply being put on the table. If in conscience clergy don’t want to take it, then that’s up to them – that’s the benefit of generous hospitality. Nothing has been said about civil partnerships being taken off the table, and the whole point of this exercise is surely to be expansive, and not close things down.

    And yet there are a number of ‘conservative’ bishops who continue to rail against this hospitality, and whose consciences ‘must be respected’ (again, interesting how it’s only ever one way, isn’t it). They won’t license or ordain clergy in same sex marriages, whatever the church decides, they say – and again, fascinating to see that they are unlikely to apply any restrictions to clergy from elsewhere who officiate at such marriages, but only on the queers in them. Their ongoing threat of a postcode lottery is holding the whole thing up, and they’re once again holding us to ransom. And it is all an argument built on sand, because as they like to remind us, the Church of England hasn’t changed its doctrine of marriage – and as is entirely obvious, the Church doesn’t recognise the marital in marriage between people of the same sex. It’s a house of cards, and needs calling out.

    It is high time for the Church of England to return to a sense of balance and proportion, to focus on the pastoral and not the disciplinary, and to actively find ways to enable and release its clergy into the world so badly in need of the Gospel message. We have failed – disastrously – at doing this for queer clergy in the last ten years, and at last we have the opportunity to change that. We don’t agree – maybe we never will – on marriage. But we can, surely, agree on the primacy of the Gospel. It really is as simple as that.

  • The Majority or the Minority? A Rhetorical Question

    by Rev. Yin-An Chen, Assistant Curate in the Diocese of Lichfield, Trustee of Open Table Network, and Council Member of Modern Church

    I have always believed that I need to stand in solidarity with other minorities and oppressed groups. I stand up firmly for the equality and rights of women, the disabled, transgender people, refugees, people from disadvantaged backgrounds and religious minorities. However, I do not belong to any of these marginalised groups—at least, in the British context. Sometimes some minority experiences are contextual and relative, depending on the situation.

    For example, as a Han-ethnic Taiwanese, I never feel I am a ‘racial minority’ in my homeland. I have been ‘learning’ to be a racial minority since I moved to the UK ten years ago. As a bisexual man, I am ‘generally’ a minority in both Taiwan and the UK. I am unlikely to find any place where bisexual men are the ‘majority’.

    Due to this ‘inconsistency’ of who is majority and/or minority, I am occasionally confused by what I am standing for and dubious about how “solidarity of the minorities” can be built on strong foundations and prosper—if one minority group can ‘suddenly’ see themselves as the majority, or if embracing the identity of one oppressed group over others has become more mainstreamed and more politically correct.

    Something truly heart-breaking happened in the spring of 2023 when the Church of England’s General Synod conducted a serious debate on Living in Love and Faith and the vexed question of the blessing of same-sex marriages. I was told by a campaigner for racial justice that the Church of England must consider the broader context of the whole Anglican Communion. That person continues to say that the unity of the Church must be prioritised over the alteration of the Doctrine of Holy Matrimony. (Beware! The ‘doctrine’ has a capital letter!)

    The LGBT community and its allies in the Church of England have heard enough of this stuff. It is nonsensical that the Church should hold back from gay marriage because of strong opposition from the Global Majority. And there is another parallel, which is the growth of conservative Christianity in the Global South vs the decline of liberal Christianity in the Global North. (The definition of ‘liberal’ was already ambiguous but here it simply means affirming women and LGBT people in the church to be ‘who they are’ in terms of their relationship and vocation.) The Synod should listen to what the majority of global Anglicans have taught the minority of English Anglicans about marriage.

    There is irony in the rhetorical language that is repeatedly used here when talking of majorities and minorities. The Synod debate and the ongoing conversation has confused me deeply about what I am campaigning for in terms of race and sexuality. Is it truly about the equality of the minority? What do we desire in our campaign? Why do people still assume that the majority voice remains more ‘convincing’ and ‘important’ than the minority voice?

    More fundamentally and radically, why should we always allow the majority vote/decision to override the fundamental value of Christian faith and the basic rights of the minority to equality? (I deliberately chose the term ‘override’ to emphasise the power of the majority!) This question is fundamental because how can any minority groups speak for themselves through the majority decision? The question is also radical because we may need to reconsider how ‘democracy’ is applied and fulfilled in the Christian community if the practice of loving our neighbours who are not part of the majority really is the core of Christian values. (Do Christians love our neighbours because the majority of people say so?) Can LGBT people ever win over the majority vote?

    I have no interest in arguing over the ecclesiology of the Anglican Communion or the definition of Holy Matrimony. But this part of the Synod debate was disturbing. As an ‘acquired’ racial minority in the UK, I was frightened to learn that many Caribbean Christians were ‘invited out’ when they were sitting in their parish church where they assumed that they would receive a warm welcome from their brothers and sisters in Christ.[1] What were the grounds for excluding these Caribbean Christians? It was because the majority of the white British congregation did not feel comfortable about their presence in their churches. There were certainly some clergy and Christians with a conscience who went against the majority and who wanted to create a hospitable environment for these new immigrants. However, there was also a backlash voice (with which we all are familiar) which attempted to hold back the welcoming move—in the name of the disapproval of the ‘majority’.

    Putting these two experiences together and looking at the rhetorical language of the majority-and-minority, it really shows the irony and reinforces my discomfort when I see the broken solidarity between racial and sexual minorities. In our campaigning for equality and justice, can we always rely on what the majority says and the appeal to the majority? How can the Church of England proactively avoid sacrificing sexual minorities on the altar of the majority view in the same way that it excluded the Windrush Generation? Here, now, in 2024, the Church of England continues to hang on and hang back until the day the majority vote for equality arrives—even though this will almost certainly never happen. Once again, we will be badly late—and may even wait forever.

    Note
    [1] As the Church of England’s General Synod has already admitted in Windrush Commitment & Legacy (GS 2156A, 2020): “There are Anglican Christians worshipping in parish churches today whose first experience of the Church of England was turning up at their local parish church and being told by clergy and laity alike varying versions of, ‘The Baptist Church is just down the road.’ Of those who persisted in seeking to worship within the Anglican tradition they had grown up with for generations, some were told they should sit at the back of church, some were even denied Holy Communion. We must acknowledge and lament the fact that this was due to the colour of their skin, their accent, their perceived nationality.”

  • Safeguarding & Living in Love and Faith: Learning for the Church of England from the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse & Lessons Learned Reviews[1]?

    Via Media does not normally publish long pieces, but in this case we are making an exception; we have a record of expressing concern over safeguarding.[1] The following document was prepared in 2023 by Judith Maltby, a member of the House of Clergy of the General Synod.  She was encouraged to produce this paper by one of the lead bishops for safeguarding and also received critical feedback from a diocesan safeguarding professional before completion. It was presented at a meeting of the National Safeguarding Steering Group on 30 January 2024, after which it was placed on the  CofE Safeguarding Training Portal. That site requires a log-in, so we are making it available here to ensure that as many people as possible are aware of the links identified by IICSA and numerous professional Lessons Learned Reviews between the Church’s teaching on homosexuality and catastrophic safeguarding failures. All the documents cited are referenced in the notes and are in the public domain. 

     

    Revd Canon Judith Maltby is College Lecturer in Theology & Emerita Fellow, Corpus Christi College, Emerita Reader in Church History, University of Oxford, and a member of the House of Clergy of General Synod

    1. Introduction[2]

    From 2012-13 until 2022, I served as a central member elected by General Synod on the Crown Nominations Commission, the body which nominates individuals to be diocesan bishops.  I began around the time of the time of the investigation into safeguarding failures in Chichester Diocese led by Baroness Butler-Sloss.[3]  Although I had up till then followed safeguarding issues in what I hoped was a responsible way for any priest, my election onto the CNC made me realize that I needed to be much better informed as safeguarding needed to be a key element in its discernment work.  Remarkably at the time I started on the CNC, there was no explicit focus on safeguarding in its deliberations.  That has changed in the past decade.  As part of my commitment to the work of the CNC, I started reading all major safeguarding Reviews and followed the proceedings of IICSA closely.

    In 2017, I was invited in my capacity as a professional historian to join one of the disciplinary work streams for what became Living in Love and Faith.  As a member of LLF, I raised a number of times (I was not the only one to do so) that we should be drawing on external Reviews and IICSA of our safeguarding failures in our work on human sexuality.  This work did not take place.

    This paper is the result of two areas of work for the Church of England I have been part of over many years:  the Crown Nominations Commission and Living in Love and Faith.  It is not an attempt to ‘weaponize’ safeguarding in the Church’s sexuality debate, but rather to help us hear what numerous professional, independent Reviews (LLRs) and the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse (IICSA) are saying to the Church:  that our lack of inclusion of LGBT+ people has a serious and detrimental impact on the Church’s ability to deliver good safeguarding.[4]  There is very little of my own text in this paper – it is almost entirely drawn from IICSA and LLRs.  So far, as a Church we are failing to ‘read, mark, learn and inwardly digest’ this growing body of evidence from the very safeguarding professionals we have, in many cases, asked to undertake it.

    1. Questions in General Synod 2018 & 2019

    In the previous quinquennium of General Synod, on two occasions, I asked the following questions about making connections between the work of LLF and the learning needing to be done from IICSA.

    General Synod Questions July 2018

    The Revd Dr Judith Maltby (Universities & TEIs) to ask the Chair of the House of Bishops:

    Q43.  How will the insights and learning from the report due to be published later this year by the UK Government’s Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse (IICSA) concerning the culture of the Church of England in respect of gender and sexuality be incorporated into the Teaching Document on human sexuality promised for 2020?

    The Bishop of Coventry to reply on behalf of the Chair of the House of Bishops:

    1. The Co-Ordinating Group for Living in Love and Faith is expected to be attentive to developments in other areas of the Church of England’s national life that are relevant for its work. When the report from IICSA is published, it will consider whether there are specific points for it to reflect on, and how to go about this. It is also likely that the report will be relevant to the work of the Pastoral Advisory Group.[5]

    General Synod Questions July 2019

    The Revd Dr Judith Maltby (Universities & TEIs) to ask the Chair of the House of Bishops:

    Q94.  The Church Times (10 May 2019) reported that the hearings of the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse this July will ‘scrutinise, among other topics … the House of Bishops’ forthcoming teaching document on gender and sexuality’ and the Lead Bishop for Safeguarding, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, in his response to the May 2019 IICSA report on Chichester and Peter Ball, responded ‘It is absolutely right that the Church at all levels should learn lessons from the issues raised in this report’. Will the forthcoming ‘Living in Love and Faith’ show evidence of learning lessons from the IICSA hearings of March, July 2018, and July 2019, as well as the report of May 2019, about attitudes in the culture and practice of the Church of England towards women and LGBT people?

    The Bishop of Coventry to reply as Chair of the Living in Love and Faith Coordinating Group on behalf of the Chair of the House of Bishops:

    1. The purpose of the Living in Love and Faith resources is primarily educational: the plan is for the resources to be widely used by parishes, deaneries, dioceses, the House and College of Bishops and members of General Synod to enable teaching and learning. In this way LLF will demonstrate its learning from the IICSA process by promoting a culture of mutual respect, clarity, openness and transparency across the Church in relation to matters of human identity, sexuality, gender and marriage. It will also provide appropriate correctives to misinformation about human sexuality and identity. We hope that the Pastoral Principles will establish a helpful culture for using the LLF resources by enabling the Church to address the evils of prejudice, silence, fear, ignorance, hypocrisy and misuse of power, all of which have played their part in the tragic realities of sexual abuse that have been the subject of the IICSA hearings.[6]

    1. LLF’s Engagement with IICSA (November 2020)

    I served on LLF from its beginning and, along with others, attempted a number of times to have learning from IICSA incorporated into its work.  In the end, the only reference to IICSA in LLF is:

    While acknowledging the reality of abuse in the church, it is important that the specific work of theological reflection on IICSA be carried out separately from the Living in Love and Faith project… (LLF, 2020, p. 87).

    As far as I know, the work to ‘be carried out separately’ has not taken place.

    1. Illustrative Extracts from Safeguarding Reviews and IICSA

    Below are extracts from recent independent LLRs into Church of England safeguarding failures.  They argue that the Church’s teaching on homosexuality is a significant contribution to what is, from a safeguarding perspective, a more dangerous safeguarding environment.

    4.1. Dame Moira Gibb Review on Peter Ball (June 2017)

    We believe that the Church’s attitude to homosexuality at the time played a part in the failure to act appropriately. Ball’s abusive behaviour was trivialised and its consequences were set aside (p. 2).

    This issue continues to be a source of division and debate in the Church, and an important concern for some of Ball’s victims. We would simply emphasise that the Church must promote an open and accepting culture in which everyone, regardless of their sexuality or their views about homosexuality, is clear about their responsibilities towards those who might be abused or who might want to raise concerns about abuse (5.7.3).[7]

    4.2.  Independent Review by Dr Adi Cooper, OBE on Stowe and Maids Moreton, 2012-2019, Diocese of Oxford (April 2022)

    In her review on the abuse and murder of Peter Farquhar and the abuse of Anne Moore-Martin by Ben Field, Dr Cooper makes a direct connection between the Church of England’s ‘wider policies regarding homosexual practice’ and putting people at risk:

    1.3.  The closed culture of the Stowe Church in general, including attitudes towards homosexuality, meant that the [sic] Peter Farquhar’s homosexuality and the relationship between Peter Farquhar and Ben Field was a ‘well-known secret’. The wider policies of the Church of England regarding homosexual practice and approach to sexuality and relationships put Peter Farquhar at risk and vulnerable to exploitation. A culture which supported openness and transparency would have better safeguarded Peter Farquhar.  Whilst people continue to feel forced to hide or lie about their sexuality, they can become vulnerable to exploitation, as was Peter Farquhar. [8]

    Dr Cooper cites the earlier report by Dame Moira Gibb on Peter Ball:

    The recommendation from a previous review, ‘that the Church must promote an open and accepting culture in which everyone, regardless of their sexuality or their views about homosexuality, is clear about their responsibilities towards those who might be abused or who might want to raise concerns about abuse’[9] is reinforced by this review.

    She continues:

    Negative attitudes towards homosexuality and homosexual practice in the Church of England reinforce internalised homophobia. An area for applying learning from this case review would be to ask, ‘How many other older men and women in similar positions to Peter Farquhar may be vulnerable to exploitation?’ There is an issue here for the wider church to consider how it offers support to its lesbian and gay members, not to ‘cure’ and ‘heal’ them as this would be a deeply homophobic response …. However, the institutional Church of England faces challenges to resolve its own positioning on this, before it can effectively support any individuals with their expressed tensions between sexuality and religious beliefs. This case review calls for a concerted effort to be made to reduce the stigma of homosexuality within the wider Church of England communion, so that it can provide a safer place for lesbians and gay men to worship, as is its intent.[10]

    The issue of how to explore issues of personal relationships and sexuality is a complex area, particularly given current contradictory expectations from the Church of England regarding homosexuality and heterosexuality, which may lead people to lie about the reality of their sexual lives. The current position taken by the Church of England, continuing to insist that sex is for married couples only and that any other partnership has to be a sexually abstinent friendship is not conducive to disclosure, particularly from young people, as well as exposing people to risk, as discussed in section 1 above. This needs to change and the Church should consider how to make it possible for people to be honest about their relationships, as well as being a safe place for lesbians and gay men.[11]

    4.3. Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse (IICSA)

    The connection between the Church’s attitudes towards homosexuality and creating a less safe environment, was repeatedly made in the IICSA proceedings.  What follows is a representative, rather than an exhaustive, sample.

    (i)  5 March 2018.  Fiona Scolding, QC, at the IICSA inquiry into Chichester Diocese  set out a number of questions such as:  ‘How far did the reaction of some within the church to homosexuality possibly inhibit the reporting of child sexual abuse?’[12] Later, she cited DI Wayne Murdock, a police officer involved in the investigation of the Peter Ball case, stating that ‘one of the factors that influenced his view of the public interest in bringing a prosecution was the risk that some church witnesses would be exposed as homosexuals in court. That would, in his words, have seen their roles within the church effectively finished.’ As Murdock put it: ‘“I believe that the issue of homosexuality had a detrimental effect in encouraging witnesses and potential complainants within the church to come forward”’.[13]

    (ii)  14 March 2018.  When Fiona Scolding interviewed the Bishop of Chichester, Rt Revd Dr Martin Warner, she asked: ‘Do you not think that the Church’s difficulty in coming to terms with the complexity of self-identity when it comes to sexual orientation may have contributed to the misapprehensions you have identified because, you know, certainly amongst conservative individuals, homosexuality is seen as sinful?’

    Bishop Warner replied:  ‘Yes.’ Ms Scolding then asked, ‘The idea of civil partnerships is seen as anathema and the idea of getting married within the church is anathema. Do you think the church may have, albeit unwittingly, contributed to that by its approach to sexual orientation in the past?’ Bishop Warner replied: ‘I think there has been contribution from the church on this’. He went on to talk about how covering up homosexuality contributed to a culture in which sexual abuse was also kept secret.[14]

    (iii)  14 March 2018.  Ms Scolding’s examination of the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, raised the link between attitudes towards homosexuality and safeguarding failures, particularly in the case of Bishop Peter Ball.

    1. Specifically, inasmuch as you know about the case involving Bishop Peter Ball, do you think the church’s attitude towards homosexuality may have played any role in the way the church treated him either during his time as a priest or afterwards?
    2. I think so, and, again, I’m speculating, but it does seem to me that, at a time when people were beginning to feel awkward about the traditional closeted attitude, there was perhaps overcompensation, saying ‘Well, we don’t want to be judgemental about people’s sexual activities. We may formally, in a disciplinary way disapprove, we may treat them according to the protocols, but we mustn’t be seen to be – or we mustn’t be judgemental.  We must therefore give people second chances and understand the pressures’, and so on.  So I think there is an element of that coming in, a rather paradoxical consequence of the traditional view of homosexuality within the church; you want to overcompensate a bit for it.[15]

    Lord Williams acknowledged that guilt or dis-ease about the treatment of gay men, especially clergymen, in the Church of England may have allowed Peter Ball to go unchecked in his criminal behaviour for decades.  He received a lot of criticism for his remarks, but I think he was correctly describing a pattern of disordered institutional behaviour.[16]

    (iv)  24 July 2018.  Fiona Scolding, interviewing the former Archbishop, Lord Carey of Clifton, proposed that: ‘The church was so uncomfortable in dealing with and managing same-sex relationships that it didn’t really have an understanding of what was an appropriate same-sex relationship and what was an inappropriate same-sex relationship.’[17]

    (v) 25 June 2019.  In his Second Witness Statement, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, stated:  ‘I am informed by Mr Tilby that these [LLF] resources will be reviewed by the NST before they are finalised to ensure that they sufficiently address safeguarding related issues.’[18]  That review never appears to have taken place or if it did, it had no impact on LLF.   LLF states:  ‘While acknowledging the reality of abuse in the church, it is important that the specific work of theological reflection on IICSA be carried out separately from the Living in Love and Faith project…’ (LLF, 2020, p. 87).

     (vi)  11 July 2019.  Archbishop Justin Welby was asked whether ‘there is sufficient openness about human sexuality in the church now so that there is, and can be, proper debate and discussion with victims and survivors and proper work on minimising risk within the church?’  He responded, ‘Yes. I think there is far more openness than there was. I think the Living in Love and Faith Project has enabled a culture of transparency in ways that didn’t exist before.  I’ve no doubt we have got a huge amount further to go on that ….  the project was just getting going then … It is now coming within 12 months of its end and I think that that has had a huge impact, and will continue to do so’.[19]

    (vii) October 2020.  In the Executive Summary of the IICSA final report, we read that: ‘Deference to the authority of the Church and to individual priests, taboos surrounding discussion of sexuality and an environment where alleged perpetrators were treated more supportively than victims presented barriers to disclosure that many victims could not overcome.’[20]

     (viii) October 2020.  The full investigation report of the Anglican Church by IICSA observes:  ‘There was a culture of fear and secrecy within the Church about sexuality.  Some members of the Church also wrongly conflated homosexuality with the sexual abuse of children and vulnerable adults.  There was a lack of transparency, open dialogue and candour about sexual matters, together with an awkwardness about investigating such matters.  This made it difficult to challenge sexual behaviour.  Mr Colin Perkins, diocesan safeguarding adviser (DSA) for the Diocese of Chichester, told us that homosexual clergy may have found themselves inadvertently “under the same cloak” as child sexual abusers, who sought to mask their behaviour “in the same cultural hiding place”’.[21]

     4.4. Chris Robson Review on Father Alan Griffin (July 2022)

    Shortly before the July 2022 session of General Synod, the report on the suicide of Father Griffin was published and states:

     This illustrates a divisive issue that has been at the centre of this review – the Church of England’s stance on homosexuality. Again, this issue is so complex that it could not possibly be dealt with in significant detail by this review. At the same time, it cannot be ignored.  There is clear evidence that the way Father Alan was treated was, in part, influenced by the Church and individuals’ conscious and unconscious bias around his sexual orientation (5.3).[22] 

    1. Independent Safeguarding Board (ISB) and National Safeguarding Panel (NSP) at General Synod July 2022

    At the July 2022 Synod, during the presentation ‘Safeguarding and Independence: Update and Next Steps (GS2263 and GSMisc 1320)’, I asked the following question:

     The Revd Canon Dr Judith Maltby (Universities & TEIs): We have had a number of safeguarding reports and reviews, the Gibb Report on Peter Ball, IICSA and the most recent one on Fr Griffin which just came out a few days ago. All those reports make a connection between the Church’s attitudes towards homosexuality and being a less safe Church and I wonder if you as a panel have views on that.

    Professor Maggie Atkinson: Chair, thank you and thank you for the questions. I am going to take the first question and Meg is going to come forward and answer the second, because this is in collegium …. Meg is going to take the one that was asked about safety or otherwise if you are homosexual or an LGBTQ person, LGBTQIA and so on.

    Ms Meg Munn: Thank you, Maggie. The reason I volunteered among us to answer this one is because it sounds to me like this is a policy type question and, as I said at the outset, one of the things that the National Safeguarding Panel does is look into issues of policy, procedure and process. Looking at some of the issues that come out, including practice, of those reviews is the kind of scanning of the horizon that I would do with the panel when we are determining the kinds of issues that we might look at. That issue has not been one that has been discussed by us to date. It could well be one that we would discuss [my italics].

    The National Safeguarding Panel currently only meets six times a year. Well, in fact, we meet five times a year and one of our sessions we use for good practice workshops and to discuss issues of importance. I will certainly take that issue into our discussions. One of the things I tried to do is to make sure that we have our discussions when they are going to have an impact. If we know that policy procedure is being reviewed or due to be reviewed, then we will choose those kind of subjects.

    But we also try to and look at issues which we think are important and that the Church is not taking enough notice of – I mean the Church as a whole not just the National Safeguarding Team. For example, in the past we have put issues like prevention on our agenda and we have put issues like adult safeguarding on our agenda because we felt that they were not getting enough focus. This could well be an issue that we might look at in the future but, to date, the National Safeguarding Panel has not looked specifically at that.[23]

    1. General Synod February 2023

    In the LLF debate on the morning of 9 February 2023, I returned to the learning to be done from IICSA and the contributions from major reviews of safeguarding failures to our discussion of sexuality.[24]  In the afternoon of 9 February, there was an opportunity to ask questions of the new Director of the National Safeguarding Team (NST), Mr Alexander Kubeyinje.  Both the Revd Robert Thompson (London) and I asked Mr Kubeyinje about the NST’s engagement with the connection made in IICSA and other independent reviews concerning attitudes toward LGBT+ people and safeguarding failures.  I asked:  ‘When we have these major Reports like Robson on Griffin and material from IICSA, what is the process for learning and absorbing from those Reports by the NST?’  Mr Kubeyinje replied:

    Judith, with regards to your question, we have plans, we have a lot of meetings with other people. We are starting to do audit activity. We are trying to triangulate and close the loop. We know we still need to work on our quality assurance element, but we do take those recommendations seriously, and some of those recommendations have actually moved along quite well. [25]

    It is good to know that there are ‘a lot of meetings’ and allowance must be made for Mr Kubeyinje’s newness in the post at the time, but it is not at all clear what ‘triangulate and close the loop’ means or which recommendations in regard to sexuality and safeguarding ‘have moved along quite well’.  Synod was not provided with any actual example.

    1. General Synod July 2023

    7.1.  Questions.

    I returned the issue of the connection made by IICSA and various LLRs in a question at the most recent General Synod.

    The Revd Canon Dr Judith Maltby (Universities & TEIs) to ask the Chair of the House of Bishops:

    Q100.  Archbishop Welby said in his Second Witness Statement to IICSA (June 2019): “I am informed by Mr [Graham] Tilby [at the time National Advisor, CofE Safeguarding] that these [LLF] resources will be reviewed by the NST before they are finalised to ensure that they sufficiently address safeguarding related issues.” The only reference to IICSA in LLF (2020) is: “While acknowledging the reality of abuse in the church, it is important that the specific work of theological reflection on IICSA be carried out separately from the Living in Love and Faith project…” (p. 87). May Synod know what group is carrying out the separate work of theological reflection on the learning from IICSA to ensure the LLF process does “sufficiently address safeguarding related issues” as stated by the Archbishop in 2019?

    The Bishop of London replied:

    The Bishop of London to reply on behalf of the Chair of the House of Bishops:

    A The question asks about two separate things. Theological reflection on the findings from IICSA underpins the work of the National Safeguarding Steering Group in overseeing the implementation of IICSA’s recommendations. Meanwhile, the materials arising from the Living in Love and Faith process are still in development, as reported in GS 2303. Material on pastoral guidance and pastoral reassurance will be reviewed from a safeguarding perspective before they are finalised.[26]

    Bishop Sarah’s answer indicates that it is the responsibility of the NSSG/NSP to undertake the work in the area of attitudes towards homosexuality and safeguarding.  However, in July 2022, in the Presentation from the NSP and ISB to General Synod, the then Chair, Meg Munn, stated that the topic has not been discussed:

    That issue has not been one that has been discussed by us to date. It could well be one that we would discuss …. But we also try to and look at issues which we think are important and that the Church is not taking enough notice of – I mean the Church as a whole not just the National Safeguarding Team (see 5 above).

    7.2. Safeguarding Code of Practice:  Safeguarding Practice Reviews GS2295

    At the same meeting in July 2023, Synod approved a proposal to replace Lessons Learned Reviews (LLR) with much more detailed Safeguarding Practice Reviews (SPR).  GS2295 speaks in numerous places about the dissemination of learning from Reviews to inform the Church’s practice.  For example:

    From the Cover Paper for GS2295

    4.4.1 Some concern was expressed that these Reviews would not hold people to account for what they had done and they would not establish guilt. We have tried to be very clear that the purpose of this process is not about managing allegations or about findings of guilt/responsibility. It is about understanding the reasons why events have happened so that an organisation can learn and improve its safeguarding. As explained in 1.3 above, there are other processes for holding individuals to account (p. 8).

    6.3 The reflective exercises we suggest are exactly that: they are suggestions to help people find the way that works best for them and for their organisation to learn from safeguarding events in a variety of circumstances. The key thing is the move away from focussing only on what is wrong with individual practice or processes, into what is hampering or enabling good safeguarding practice at an organisational level. We will continue to work on developing tools and resources to help this. 

    Main Document GS2295

    1.2 What a Safeguarding Practice Review is and what it is not

    The main features of an SPR are that:

    • It is a planned process of reflective learning by a Church body designed to improve the quality and impact of that Church’s body’s safeguarding activity.
    • The aim is to identify a limited number of key themes which, if implemented, will result in improved outcomes for victim(s)/survivor(s) and respondent(s).

    1.3 The outcomes of SPRs

    SPRs should seek to achieve the following outcomes:

    • The identification of systemic and organisational factors or failings which impacted on what happened. This should include any issues of organisational culture, the nature and quality of human relationships, resourcing and governance, and any inappropriate use of power within the Church body.

    It is worth noting that there is no mention of the Church’s doctrines or teaching on sexuality in its references to ‘organisational culture’ in this extensive document.

    From the section describing the structure of a SPR, GS2295 speaks of the importance of understanding the ‘why’, not only the ‘what’, of a safeguarding failure (pp. 26-7):

    Why answers might include;

    Whether any ‘contextual factors’ impacted on the case and in what way, for example:

    • Availability of adequate guidance;
    • Resourcing of safeguarding/workloads/staffing levels;
    • Training/supervision/support for relevant Church Officers;
    • Organisational culture and relationships;
    • Personal constraints (e.g. excessive or onerous responsibilities);

    The Reviewer’s conclusions: what are the key lessons and changes required of specific Church Bodies and/or the whole Church system?

    The Reviewer’s recommendations:

    1. These should be focussed on a small number of high priority, outcome focussed, SMART recommendations, normally between six and ten in number. The aim is to have a smaller number of achievable, impactive recommendations, rather than a large number of recommendations which are not impactive.
    2. Recommendations need to be aligned to the Safeguarding Standards:
    • Prevention
    • Culture, Leadership and Capacity
    • Recognising, Assessing and Managing Risk
    • Victims and Survivors
    • Learning, Supervision and Support
    1. Within this, recommendations should be grouped under the following headings:
    • Strategic: Recommendations relevant to the whole Church system.
    • Local/operational: Recommendations relevant to the specific Church Bodies involved in the case. This must include whether further action is needed to manage on-going risk, and whether consideration of further investigatory action should be undertaken by Church Bodies within their capability and disciplinary frameworks (These latter would not be published.)

    The section on Tone and Methodology (pp. 28-9) states:

    Adopting an appropriate tone and methodology is essential if the Review process is going to help to deliver learning which results in actual change. This is particularly the case if change in beliefs, values, behaviours and culture are needed.

    An approach which:

    • treats all involved (that is victims, survivors, respondents, clergy and staff, volunteers) with empathy, respect and compassion as valuable and complex human beings who matter;
    • is dialogical, seeing all those involved as partners in the development of understanding and solution finding;
    • is marked by genuine curiosity and transparency;
    • is marked by creative ways of exploring issues relevant to the circumstances;
    • prepares those who will be involved to address anxieties and fears, is more likely to help bring about genuine change than one marked by fear, threat, fixed and strongly held positions, and inflexibility.

    GS2295 speaks of ‘disseminating learning’ from Reviews (p. 42):

    The Church Bodies involved in the case under review should give consideration at the earliest possible point as to how the learning from the Review will be shared and disseminated …

    GS2295 continues:

    On a wider scale, the NST will have a role in reviewing the themes that are emerging from all the Reviews carried out. This will feed back into the NST’s planning cycle for learning and development thus closing the learning loop. Linking the recommendations to the Safeguarding Standards also allows for them to be included in any further external audits, again ensuring that the learning is captured and implemented.

    It isn’t clear how the ‘learning loop’ operates or how it impacts on learning and development – especially in the light of the evidence of multiple references in IICSA and LLRs, connecting discriminatory policies towards LGBT+ people and catastrophic safeguarding failures.

    1. Conclusion

    On the basis of the evidence gathered and presented here, it appears that none, or very little, of the insights and learning from IICSA and other independent Reviews on catastrophic safeguarding failures in the Church of England and the connection to discriminatory attitudes towards LGBT+ people, are being incorporated into our safeguarding policies, structures and training or are part of our deliberations about the inclusion of LGBT+ people in the life of the Church of England, in any meaningful way.  External Reviewers cited in this paper are consistent in making the connection.  Despite this, over its six years, the LLF process did not incorporate the learning from IICSA and LLRs.

    GS2295 speaks of the importance of ‘reflective exercises’ (p. 43):

    One of the marks of a healthy organisational culture is when the individuals who comprise the organisation are personally self-reflexive and welcome feedback from others. Self-reflexivity is different from just self-reflection because it contains the idea of turning self-reflection in to actual action that brings about change.

    Dr Cooper, in her Stowe and Maids Moreton LLR, states:

    Recommendation 13: Provide strong leadership in responding to the recommendations of the case review, to ensure that they are delivered both within the Diocese and raise for wider action within the Church of England.[27]

    It remains to be seen where this leadership is being shown or where the ‘turning self-reflection in to actual action that brings about change’ is being done.

    Notes:

    [1] See also Helen King:  https://viamedia.news/2020/10/16/why-the-church-of-england-must-connect-the-dots-iicsa-and-llf/#_ftn1

    [2] This paper predates the publication of Makin on John Smyth and what will almost certainly have to be an independent Review of Soul Survivors, given the network of conflicted interests.

    [3] IICSA identified a number of deficiencies in the Butler-Sloss Review, which failed to mention the abuse committed by Bishop Peter Ball.  https://www.iicsa.org.uk/reports-recommendations/publications/investigation/anglican-chichester-peter-ball/case-study-1-diocese-chichester/b5-butler-sloss-report.html

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82HzdoOAC-4

    https://audioboom.com/posts/2765739-on-31-12-14-phil-johnson-released-this-march-2011-recording-of-his-discussion-with-butler-sloss

    [4] The LLR on Jonathan Fletcher (March 2021) notes how the removal of his licence was seen as weaponizing safeguarding: ‘“When the announcement was made by Southwark [Diocese] about [the] removal of Jonathan’s licence – I thought and others – this is [a] stitch up – yet again Southwark having a go at the conservative constituency”’.  See C5.3 and C4.6.2.  https://walkingwith.s3-eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/Final+Report+of+ECW+Review_March+2021.pdf

    [5] https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2018-07/general-synod-july-2018-questions-paper.pdf

    [6] https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2019-07/general-synod-july-2019-questions.pdf

    [7] https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2017-11/report-of-the-peter-ball-review-210617.pdf.  See 5.7.

    [8] 1.3; see also 5.5, 5.6, 5.7, 5.10, 5.11.  https://d3hgrlq6yacptf.cloudfront.net/61f2fd86f0ee5/content/pages/documents/20211012-doc-events-in-stowe-and-maids-moreton.pdf

    https://www.oxford.anglican.org/stowe-maids-moreton.php

    [9] Gibb on Ball, 5.7.3.

    [10] Cooper on Stowe and Maids Moreton, 5.10.  https://d3hgrlq6yacptf.cloudfront.net/61f2fd86f0ee5/content/pages/documents/20211012-doc-events-in-stowe-and-maids-moreton.pdf.  Dr Cooper cites the House of Bishops’ Report (2017), ‘Promoting a Safer Church policy, the Church of England’s policy for Children, young people and adults’, p. 5.  https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2017-11/cofe-policy-statement.pdf

    [11] Cooper on Stowe and Maids Moreton, 5.11.

    [12] IICSA (5 March 2018), p. 116.  Ms Scolding also queried:  ‘How far did the church’s position in respect of the ordination of women and the fact that the church was, until 1992, a largely male-led-and-run institution impact upon the management of safeguarding, if it did so at all?’  https://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ukgwa/20221214224622/https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/4335/view/5-march-2018-anglican-public-hearing-transcript.pdf

    [13] IICSA (23 July 2018), pp. 77-8.  https://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ukgwa/20221215041430/https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/5977/view/23-july-2018-anglican-public-hearing-transcript.pdf

    [14] IICSA (14 March 2018), pp. 84-8.  https://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ukgwa/20221215014004/https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/4690/view/14-march-2018-anglican-public-hearing-transcript.pdf

    [15] IICSA (14 March 2018), pp. 143-4.  https://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ukgwa/20221215014004/https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/4690/view/14-march-2018-anglican-public-hearing-transcript.pdf

    [16] For critical responses to Lord Williams (14, 15 March 2018), see https://www.thinkinganglicans.org.uk/2018/03/.

    [17] IICSA (24 July 2018), p. 25.  https://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ukgwa/20221216171917/https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/6029/view/public-hearing-transcript-24-july-2018.pdf

    [18] See p. 12.  https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/12831/view/ACE027710.pdf.

    [19] IICSA (11 July 2019), pp. 204-5.  https://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ukgwa/20221215044054/https://www.iicsa.org.uk/key-documents/12777/view/public-hearing-transcript-11-july-2019.pdf

    [20] https://www.iicsa.org.uk/reports-recommendations/publications/investigation/anglican-church/executive-summary.html (October 2020).

    [21] 4.5.  See also 14.  https://www.iicsa.org.uk/document/anglican-church-safeguarding-church-england-and-church-wales-investigation-report.html

    [22] https://www.london.anglican.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/AG-report-Final-Report.pdf

    [23] See pp. 283-85.  https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2023-01/general-synod-group-of-sessions-july-2022_0.pdf

    See above Archbishop Welby’s Second Witness Statement on 25 June 2019:  ‘I am informed by Mr Tilby that these [LLF] resources will be reviewed by the NST before they are finalised to ensure that they sufficiently address safeguarding related issues.’

    [24] 9 Feb 2023, p. 172.  https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2023-06/updated-report-of-proceedings-feb-2023.pdf

    [25] pp. 370-71.  https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2023-06/updated-report-of-proceedings-feb-2023.pdf

    [26] https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2023-07/questions-notice-paper-july-2023.pdf

    [27] Stowe and Maids Moreton (7.7, p. 26).

  • The Long and Complicated History of Church Debates over Sexuality

    by Dr Laura Ramsay, Senior Lecturer in Modern History at Bournemouth University. Her book, Sexuality and the Church of England, 1918–1980, is scheduled for publication in summer 2024.

    Recent debates in General Synod about ‘Living in Love and Faith’ have resoundingly confirmed that the Church of England is racked by deep disagreements over issues of sexuality. It is struggling to find its way towards a resolution that might enable those with opposing perspectives to move forward together. But Anglicans know that these are not new arguments or divisions. The Church has been wrangling with disputes about its approach towards same-sex relationships for many decades. The first clear sign of this was in 1974, when the Synod’s Board for Social Responsibility (BSR) appointed a working party to study the matter, which was chaired by John Yates, the Bishop of Gloucester (1975–91). The working party’s report, Homosexual Relationships: A Contribution to Discussion (1979), also known as the Gloucester report, refused to accept that all people had an “unqualified moral right to sexual self-expression” but cautiously proposed “that there are circumstances in which individuals may justifiably choose to enter into a homosexual relationship with the hope of enjoying a companionship and physical expression of sexual love similar to that which is to be found in marriage”.

    Such claims were thought to be so controversial that the BSR initially delayed publication and only agreed to this on condition that a statement of its own critical observations about the report was included as an appendix. The BSR also forestalled its discussion in Synod by arguing that more time was needed to digest the report and ensure the debate was “Christian, charitable, instructive and informed”.

    Yet, by the time the Gloucester report came before Synod in February 1981, tensions were running high and factions had formed on opposing sides of the debate. Members introduced various amendments and motions in a desperate attempt to force Synod to make a judgment about ‘winners’ and ‘losers’—to either endorse or condemn the Gloucester report’s views on same-sex relationships. Faced with these pressures, Synod decided to sidestep all efforts to force its hand. By a considerable majority, it voted to simply ‘take note’ of the Gloucester report and leave the matter open for further discussion.

    For many on the outside who are looking in at these internal controversies, it appears the Church has largely been chasing its own tail on this issue, and from this perspective it seems reasonable for them to assume that its views on sexuality have always been static and have always lagged behind those of wider society. Indeed, some speakers in recent Synod debates have similarly claimed that Church teaching about sex has always been at odds with culture (and, therefore, they argue that now is also no time for change).

    For a long time, historians agreed with such claims, largely assuming that the Churches had a limited role in the making of modern ideas about sexuality. Influenced by traditional theories about secularisation, most histories of sexuality tended either to ignore the influence of religion (and instead focused on the impact of secular ideas emerging from the fields of science, medicine, and the law), or they portrayed religion as a chief antagonist that fought against the forces of social change. However, such historical assumptions have since been overturned by a new body of scholarship which shows that Christian commentators (and sometimes institutions) actually helped to lead and drive developments in British sexual culture during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

    My new book, Sexuality and the Church of England, 1918–1980, further enriches our understanding through its original, academic study of the Church’s role in historical processes of sexual permissiveness and religious decline. It provides an archivally rich account of the Church’s institutional grappling with matters of sex, relationships, marriage, birth control, and same-sex attraction across a long and previously underexplored chronology. I tell the story of how, despite intense internal disagreements, for much of the twentieth century the Church acted as a powerful social, cultural, and political force for shaping attitudes towards sex and morality, particularly in the years before the expansion of state welfare.

    Up until the late 1970s, British experts, policymakers, and campaigning groups generally wanted to know the opinions of the Established Church on sexual issues. They took its ideas seriously, and were willing to be guided by its views at least to some extent. In this period, the Church’s views on sex were led by its moral welfare organisations, which were designated as a centre for research, education, and expertise about sexual relationships, both on behalf of the Church and of the nation. These groups were frequently at the forefront of sexual and social changes in Britain—they made proactive moves to influence the attitudes of the Church, the state, and society by popularising new understandings of sex and desire and outlining up-to-date Christian approaches towards responsible, autonomous, sexual citizenship.

    Perhaps less surprisingly, Sexuality and the Church of England, 1918–1980 also uncovers a long and complicated history of Anglican disagreements and difficulties in decision-making about issues of sexuality, leading up to the beginnings of the Church’s contemporary impasse. In doing so, it points towards some of the underlying reasons why these divisions have proved so difficult for successive generations of Anglican thinkers to resolve. Historically speaking, disputes and tensions were built-in to the very nature of Anglican sexual politics. As Geoffrey Fisher, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1945–61, put it, “in the Church of England and throughout the Anglican Communion we jealously guard the freedom of people to have their own opinion and express it”.

    For this reason, questions of sexual morality were not regarded as definite issues on which the Church could speak with one voice or formulate an official policy. Instead, the Church sought to function as an agent of mediation and compromise in contentious debates about sexuality. Due to its deep-seated awareness of the intensity of disagreements existing both inside and outside of its membership, the Church consistently found ways to reconcile conflicting viewpoints and build towards a consensus broad enough to unite Anglicans across a range of churchmanship.

    Up until the furore over the Gloucester report, the Church’s historically established technique of mediation had worked well and allowed it to construct compromises and mid-positions on issues of sex and relationships. But, by the late-twentieth century, Anglican viewpoints had polarised and become entrenched. This presented new challenges for the Church, which it struggled to overcome. Previously, the Church’s national legislative assemblies had not been considered an essential forum for the discussion of sexual issues, but now these spaces were transformed into a key site of deliberation and confrontation. This development meant that, while the Church had previously experienced greater room to act flexibly and hold together a range of conflicting perspectives, it was now increasingly pushed towards committing itself to more definite pronouncements about sex and morality.

    By the late-twentieth century, the Church’s former ability to construct mid-positions and accommodate a range of perspectives (even at the cost of producing some quite ambiguous statements about sexuality) was increasingly constrained. Previously, there had been at least an implicit acceptance of the Church’s role as an agent of compromise and mediation, even if the intricacies of Church policymaking were not fully understood by the general public, campaigners, or even some Anglicans, who occasionally wrote to Church leaders requesting greater clarity on matters of Christian sex teaching. For much of the twentieth century, such complaints caused few problems and could usually be assuaged with a brief explanation about the complexity of Church viewpoints. As Michael Ramsey, Archbishop of York (1956–61, later, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1961–74) explained to one correspondent, it was not possible or desirable to “formalise” ecclesiastical support about sexual issues “on which the Church, as such, has not, and cannot have, an official line”.

    Yet, by the late 1970s, with the escalation of internal splits and the rise of a new cultural climate that increasingly demanded more precise and committed approaches towards issues of sexual identity and relationships, Church leaders struggled to present vague, diverse, or undecided Anglican approaches in the ways they had done previously. The situation was further exacerbated by the intense media publicity surrounding the Gloucester report, with internal and external critics applying increasing pressure to settle the conflict by picking just one side of the argument. But this was completely at odds with the Church’s established means of operating by holding opposing views in tension and seeking to avoid further polarisation of attitudes. `

    After the 1981 Synod debate, Church strategy faltered quite dramatically. For some internal critics, the Gloucester report had conceded too much ground to the so-called “propaganda” of gay activists. These commentators criticised the Gloucester report’s re-reading of Scripture and tradition and firmly argued that the Church should not change its sex teaching to suit contemporary mores. Meanwhile, the Church was also increasingly criticised by gay campaigning organisations who had once considered the Church a powerful ally. While these groups had previously looked to secure Church support for their campaigning initiatives, they now hit back by publicly attacking the Gloucester report’s views as “patronising,” “woefully misinformed,” and lacking in “faith, hope and charity”.

    Even though the Church remained committed to its historically established strategies of reconciliation, the intensification of internal splits and skirmishes between moral campaigners and gay rights organisations only served to attract negative publicity, and the Church lost control of its former ability to contribute to national debates about sexuality. In turn, the Church became a target of critics and lobbyists who could no longer comprehend its apparent inability to move forward decisively. With that, the Church’s former means of operating as an agent of compromise and consensus was largely forgotten and its long tradition of thinking flexibly about issues of sexuality (even when this inevitably involved a challenging and painful process of reconciling conflicting perspectives) became lost to history.