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Category: Racism

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

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

    A disunited nation?

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

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

    Suggested principles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Ideas for action

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    References

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • What is Christian about Vengeance?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • The Failure of Living in Love and Faith: a Glimpse of the Blindingly Obvious

    by David Nixon, a recently retired priest and Area Dean, a Prebendary emeritus, and Honorary Senior Research Fellow at Exeter University

    I have just experienced what my sister has always termed a GBO – a Glimpse of the Blindingly Obvious. In other words, blindingly obvious for everyone else except for the one who experiences it, for whom it comes as a penny-dropping moment, another useful phrase. The risk of sharing this with you is that it’s only me for whom this is interesting or startling or revelatory, and everybody else says: “Yep, uh-hah”. But I’m going to take that risk, just in case.

    And the GBO is this: that the failure (and it really ought not to be called anything other than this) of the Living in Love and Faith (LLF) project or process is linked very closely to a particular view of the Church, and its purpose, and thus to an underlying contemporary ecclesiology. I am not saying that there is no prejudice within Church circles about LGBT+ people, no homophobia (a better term would be heteronormativity, that ranking of heterosexuality as ‘better’) out of which spring some of the opposition to LLF; rather, I am saying that alongside these things, beneath them, runs a way of thinking about Church which made and makes progress with LLF almost impossible. This would explain the ability of well-meaning bishops to issues words of condolence, as if on the passing of a dear mutual friend, at the same time as ensuring that LGBT+ people continue to feel as if they are travelling steerage on the ecclesial equivalent of the Titanic. The ecclesiological predisposition of many bishops (and others) means that to act in full favour of LLF would run counter to how they perceive the task and the role of the Church of England now, and so would land them in an uncomfortable contradiction. Better to ditch LLF progress than to have to admit that the ecclesiology might be faulty. To use another image, the bishops’ ecclesiological garment risks being called out as illusory, nothing more than the emperor’s new clothes, whose vanity is always pricked by one of the children, the ‘small ones’. A minor act of infanticide might be worth the opprobrium. Let me explain more fully.

    To be slightly fairer to LLF, by comparison to Issues in Human Sexuality (1991) and the 1998 Lambeth resolutions, having a liturgy to bless same-sex couples as part of an existing act of worship in church and the pastoral letter from bishops in 2026 is a remarkable (albeit slow) achievement. Often overlooked however is the theological process of LLF, which is even more surprising, so much so that this in itself justified a pause if not a halt. One of the many criticisms of Issues is that it positioned differently the voices and experiences of LGBT+ people and those of doctors, psychologists and biologists, so that the latter group were regarded as experts commenting on the lives of others. Later reports ameliorated this to some extent, but the control of the House of Bishops over the debate, and the terms of the debate, remained rigid. Bishop Gene Robinson’s comment on the Lambeth Commission which produced the later Windsor Report in 2004 remains apposite: imagine, he suggested, a commission about sexism composed only of men, or one about racism with no Black people, yet it was deemed acceptable for a commission about sexuality to have no gay or lesbian representatives. By contrast, LLF foregrounded the lives of a range of LGBT+ people, alongside sociological and cultural analysis (‘Paying attention: What is going on?’) within a more expansive theological framework. More technically, this was nearer to the inductive method of Liberation Theology, working from human experience to interpret doctrine, rather than setting out a universal scheme to be imposed deductively on every given situation. The risk, perhaps intended, perhaps not fully understood, was that by contrast to previous reports and commissions, the bishops might lose control of the process.

    And then there are the bigger ecclesiological issues.

    The direction of travel at present in the Church of England is towards a public theology based on discipleship rather than citizenship. This contrasts the Church as a counter-cultural reality not answerable to secular demands with an institution engaged with a pluralist, secular state aiming for the common good underlying universal human principles. Church priorities summarised as ‘simpler, humbler, bolder’ emphasise the growth of numbers of disciples through missionary endeavour, and set a variety of targets. The language of ‘disciple’ and ‘mission’ abounds.

    Superficially, there is nothing to argue with here: who would not want the Church to grow, to become more diverse, and for parishes to be revitalised? Yet a modicum of reflection suggests that this is very Church-centric, institutionally and structurally focussed, and that the parishes and disciples are there to maintain and support the Church as an organisation. There is little here about creating and sustaining loving and compassionate communities which engage the wider world in uncertain times, little also about the Kingdom of God as a purpose and goal, and of the Church as a means of helping to deliver this. Public theology as primarily outwardly focussed, beyond the Church and into (for example) the worlds of work, study and leisure is much diminished. And so ultimately the ministry which the Church envisages and for which it forms its clergy is also diminished. The upshot of this is that the Church becomes an end in itself, another institution (like the Post Office?) whose main task is itself – reputation, growth, survival. This is actualised in the work of the Strategic Mission and Ministry Investment Board (SMMIB), whose large grants from central funds to cash-poor dioceses are made on the basis of numerical growth and clergy performance management.

    This ecclesiology is weak on two fronts: there is a misinterpretation of both incarnation and eschatology. The concept of Jesus as both human and divine always means that a division of the world into secular or sacred space is flawed, and we have the discomfort of living overlapped in both places, or of being ‘degrounded’ as Judith Butler says. The temptation at a time of greater secularisation, of loss of Church authority and influence, of scandal and financial threat is to withdraw to apparent safety; but as Bonhoeffer insists in his Ethics, there is ‘nowhere to retreat from the world’. It is again Bonhoeffer who points up the eschatological weakness of a Church that appears to be ‘only for its self-preservation, as though that were an end in itself’ (Letters and Papers from Prison). It is not simply the paucity of vision that cannot see beyond its own bounds (an advance parochialisation), but a failure to glimpse the transformations of the Kingdom, and an attempt to restrict God. If the Church is at the centre, God is at the margins, and a neo-colonial mindset seeks to assert control over God too.

    How does this relate to the failure of LLF? A Church focussed internally may mean it is reluctant to engage in the messy territory of human sexualities, not least when there is the scandal of abuse, and deep and acrimonious divisions of opinion. At worst, this can become a reiteration of the purity/pollution trope, in which the disciples who are to be sought and nurtured are there to form a model community of idealised heterosexuals, where all those who fall outside quite a narrow definition are not only unwelcome, but also serve to establish where those boundaries lie – you may think I am caricaturing here, but look at the photos on the Church of England website about Weddings. The Church as counter-cultural institution means that it does not have to follow the direction of society in terms of accepting different sexualities, and rejecting these may be a marker of belonging to an alternative ecclesial reality.

    A retreat to comfort and security (nostalgia even) is understandable, but we are called to so much more than this. Allied to a desire to take charge again of the LLF process, it is hardly surprising that given this predominant ecclesiology LLF has not fulfilled its aims.

    If there is room for hope here, it lies in the continuing rhetoric of a public theology of citizenship, where pastoral care is delivered because there is need, where schools and communities are supported simply because they are there, where lay people and clergy say their prayers within and on behalf of their parishes because they are centred on a God of love, compassion and mercy.

    Although a citizenship model of public theology is probably more favourable to LGBT+ people, there is hope too in the internal contradictions of the contemporary discipleship policy. There is an admirable wish for the Church to be more attractive to families and young people at the same time as a recognition that the Church’s position towards LGBT+ people is deeply off-putting (Pilling Report 2013). Same-sex marriage in a civil context has been available since 2013 so that today’s ‘young people’ have come of age knowing nothing different, and so find it difficult to understand why this is problematic in the Church of England. Parishes reflecting the rich diversity of the communities they serve is again an excellent aspiration, but in terms of LGBT+ people, this can still mean being less than fully included. The Church rightly supports stable long-term committed relationships but explicitly withdraws this support for non-heterosexual marriage.

    The hope is that such weight causes the structure to wobble or topple. I would caution against any thought of ‘the final big push’ over the barricades – rather it is the unwelcome but necessary task of LGBT+ people and their supporters (the cost of our discipleship) to keep saying clearly that present policies are like the emperor’s new clothes: threadbare. Or at the risk of mixing metaphors, like a Jenga tower, from which each piece is being gradually removed.

     

    [I am grateful to Canon Mike Williams for his insights about public theology, but the link to LLF is entirely my own thinking.]

  • A Heavy Yoke: Selina Stone on Power

    I wanted to review Selina Stone’s new book, published today, on Via Media News, because this is such an important and accessible reflection on themes which are currently being discussed widely in our churches, particularly as we continue to reel from awareness of sexual and other forms of abuse: the themes of power, leadership, trust and success. While her approach is a theological one, Stone rightly points out that theology is expressed in practice and can be shaped and distorted by our personality and prejudices. And that was where I found her book was especially valuable, because she challenges each of us to face our own power in order to understand just where it is held, and how it can be abused.

    Stone writes from the Pentecostal tradition, but everything she discusses applies equally to other denominations. Leaders’ use of the church for their own ends is only made possible by the cultures in which they function and the Christian theology they can call on; certain theologies encourage particular power dynamics which increase the chances of spiritual abuse. In a comment which reminded me of the objections some individuals make when required to do safeguarding training, she notes that “Christians … imagine that there is no need to be trained to understand sexual harassment, toxic behaviour and racist abuse, since these are ‘worldly concerns’; instead, apparently, we simply need more Bible studies” (5). And, for those of us who are at least able to recognise abuse outside the Church, she argues that we need to do far more to understand what happens inside. Using Matthew 5’s “You’ve heard it said… but I say”, she invites churches “to critically engage with the traditions they have inherited” (11).

    I particularly appreciated Stone’s dissection of the current tropes of “disagreeing well” (31) and “servant leadership” (26), the second of these identified as virtue signalling, since it can disguise the immense power such a leader may wield over others, feigning service while keeping all the power. Stone uses the example of Jean Vanier’s abuse of nuns and lay women, which also leads her to explore the danger of concepts of spiritual fatherhood and of marriage imagery when talking about spiritual union.

    The chapter on the potential of preaching in grooming a congregation to accept abusive behaviour takes as its text a sermon by Mike Pilavachi, where he used the story of Jacob and Laban to argue that God sometimes sends toxic and abusive people into our lives because… He loves us. As a Black lay woman, Stone also knows all about churches “where white married couples occupy the highest rungs of power”, noting that the concerns of the “little people” were only properly heard after Matt and Beth Redman spoke out about Pilavachi.

    Another case study is that of SPAC Nation, whose wealthy leaders told young people to give them more money, including from selling their own blood, because this would become the seed of the church and would enable them to become rich too. To encourage this behaviour, SPAC nation drew on scripture about sacrifice and obedience. Here, Stone shows how we are still too quick to assume that dominance and numerical growth are evidence of success; and focusing on God as “Almighty” can stop us seeing how God can also be breath, or possibility.

    A further section focuses on John Smyth’s abuse, which was supported by specific readings of the Cross and theologies of atonement focused on God’s wrath. Here, Stone draws on the resources of Black female and womanist theologians, and on their interpretations of the “power in the blood”. After showing the different ways in which oppressed groups have drawn on this theology, she concludes that “God does not delight in the shedding of our blood, any more than he did in the torture and murder of Jesus” (106).

    She also explores the meaning of unity, uncovering the ways in which the word can be used to push the less powerful to remain silent so that the dominant group is able to continue as before, with any expression of disagreement being silenced as a threat to unity. But the price for unity should not be paid by those “who are already forced to carry burdens too heavy for them” (86). She asks what it really means to love each other, as opposed to merely tolerating those with whom we disagree.

    This is a book which fully grasps the complexity of power. When writing on the power of vulnerability as an element of good leadership, Stone shows how controlling leaders can pretend to be vulnerable as a technique to make others reveal their own stories, and also shows how the term “vulnerable adult” can be used to suggest that the survivor is somehow the cause of the abuse. She is very aware of body theology, particularly when analysing Vanier’s views on touch, which dangerously ignored boundaries and power. She contrasts Vanier with Jesus, who knows his power and what it is for, and always waits for consent.

    What is most challenging of all is when Stone turns from the shocking cases which have become familiar to us in the last decade or so and makes us look at ourselves, at “the wolf who might be within us” (13). For this, the most important chapter is the final one, on discernment. Here I remembered what I found most powerful in recent safeguarding leadership training: the Social GGRRAAAACCEESSSS. Taken from a social science context, these emphasise that we are all disadvantaged in some contexts and privileged in others, based on who we are. The long list used in C of E safeguarding training covers: gender, geography, race, religion, ability, accent, age, appearance, class, culture, education, employment, ethnicity, sexuality, sexual orientation, spirituality, and “something else”.

    Stone looks at discernment in the sense of a community and an individual working out how best to use their gifts in ministry, but also considers its less obvious aspects, such as knowing when to speak and when to remain silent, and recognising the spiritual influences behind people’s actions. She argues that we can’t ever spot every abuser and we don’t even know what we ourselves may be capable of doing. This is not made easier when we are not taught how to discern. Even within a church community we need to recognise the sense of something being “off”, perhaps from taking seriously our own bodily reactions. A church is which is a healthy space will have a sense of community, of making space for others, of leadership which does not control but develops other people. It will understand the importance of accountability and cultivate a culture of reflection.

    This is a clear, confident theological and personal appeal for a better understanding of power; I hope it will find its way on to the recommended reading sections of all diocesan safeguarding training materials.

     

     

     

  • Bleeding While Leading: A Theological and Leadership Reflection

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

    Introduction: The Wounded Healer

    To lead while bleeding is to embody the paradox of Christ crucified and risen. It is to stand at the altar with wounds still fresh, to proclaim resurrection while still buried under the weight of systemic injustice. This reflection is not just theological—it is incarnational. It is the story of a Black, queer curate in the Church of England, navigating a decade of racism, homophobia, classism, and xenophobia, first as a layperson and then as a clergyman. The Church, which should be a place of refuge, has often been a crucible of suffering. The Gospel of Luke tells us that Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51), knowing that the journey would end in betrayal, rejection, and death. To lead while bleeding is to walk that same road, not toward triumph, but toward truth.

    The Master’s Tools and the Architecture of Oppression

    Audre Lorde’s prophetic insight—”The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house”—speaks directly to the ecclesial structures that perpetuate exclusion. The Church of England, with its colonial legacy and hierarchical governance, often uses tools forged in whiteness, patriarchy, and heteronormativity to assess vocation and worth. These tools are not neutral. They are instruments of gatekeeping. My rejection from a parish post in 2020, citing discomfort with my ethnic background in a “monochrome white working-class” parish, is a stark example of how these tools operate. The rejection was not about theology or capability—it was about race. It was about maintaining the architecture of comfort for the dominant culture.

    Conversion Therapy: A Theology of Violence

    On 6 August, the Church Times reported that New Wine has formally apologised to me for the abuse I endured during a 2013–2014 internship. This included forced participation in a “LIFE Ministry” group aimed at “setting people free from homosexuality.” This was not pastoral care: it was spiritual violence. It was a theology of erasure. Luke’s Gospel offers a counter-narrative. In Luke 7, Jesus says to the woman who anoints him, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” He does not demand she change her identity. He affirms her dignity. The apology from New Wine, while necessary, came after years of silence and dismissal. This confession echoes the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), where religious leaders pass by the wounded. It was the outsider who stopped, who saw, who healed.

    Kinship and Betrayal: Not All Skinfolk Are Kinfolk

    The African American proverb “Not all skinfolk are kinfolk” painfully captures the reality that solidarity is not guaranteed, even among those who share racial identity. Within the Church, Black and Asian clergy have sometimes perpetuated homophobia, aligning with conservative theology that excludes LGBTQIA+ siblings. The same theology which held them in chains of oppression they use to oppress the queer people. Something that many liberationists had to realize is that we are not free until everyone is free. This betrayal is reminiscent of Judas, who shared bread with Jesus but still handed him over. In Luke 22, Jesus says, “But behold, the hand of him who betrays me is with me on the table.” To be betrayed by those who look like you, who worship beside you, is a unique kind of crucifixion.

    Formation and Fragmentation at Theological College

    My experience at theological college was not one of formation, but one of fragmentation. Theological colleges are meant to be places of discernment and growth, yet they often replicate the very systems of exclusion they claim to challenge. Time and time again I get pastoral emails, calls and invitations to coffee from people in theological college struggling because of racism. The Gospel of Luke begins with Mary’s Magnificat (Luke 1:46–55), a song of reversal: “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.” Formation must be rooted in this radical reordering—not in conformity to oppressive norms.

    Psychological Safety and Leadership Development

    Psychological safety is a shared belief that people can express themselves without fear of reprisal. In church leadership, this is essential for fostering trust, collaboration, and authenticity. Research by Dr. Amy Edmondson and others shows that teams with high psychological safety perform better and experience less burnout. The Church of England’s Living Ministry research highlights the importance of wellbeing, especially in the face of systemic challenges. Clergy wellbeing must be supported through leadership development that prioritizes emotional health, vocational clarity, and relational support.

    Rejection, Anxiety, and the Fear of Homelessness

    I have been rejected from over 15 curacies and 14 roles post-curacy. I have watched friends receive parishes and roles without even applying. If I do not find a role by Christmas, I will be homeless and without a job. As someone who grew up in homeless shelters, this reality is terrifying and anxiety-inducing. At 35 years old, I believed I would be leading or helping to lead an evangelical fresh expression or pioneering something new to help people come to know Jesus. Instead, I find myself fighting for survival in a system that claims to be built on grace but often operates on exclusion.

    Resurrection and Hope

    Despite the trauma, I continue to serve faithfully. My story echoes that of Zacchaeus (Luke 19), a man rejected by society but embraced by Jesus. Zacchaeus responds with restitution, giving back what was taken. The Church must do the same. Apologies are not enough. There must be structural change, reparative justice, and a reimagining of vocation that includes all bodies, all identities.

    Conclusion: A Theology of Hope

    To bleed while leading is to live in the tension of Holy Saturday between death and resurrection. It is to believe, like the women at the tomb, that the story is not over. The Church must become a place where wounds are not hidden but honoured, where leadership is not sanitised but sanctified through suffering. May the Church of England dismantle its house not with the master’s tools, but with the carpenter’s—tools of justice, mercy, and truth. May it become a place where all are welcome at the table, not just tolerated in the pews. And may those who bleed while leading find not just healing, but resurrection.

  • Behold the Men: Identifying Risks, Reconsidering Relationships

    by Rachel Starr, Director of Studies at the Queen’s Foundation for Ecumenical Theological Education, Birmingham

    Since Behold the Men was published in January, a lot of people have commented on its relevance to the present moment. Conversations about how churches interpret, encourage, even prescribe, certain models of masculinities have long been needed, but often not given the necessary attention. Today’s global realities have brought into sharper focus the problematic intersections of white power, patriarchy, colonialism and certain forms of Christianity. Yet churches are still in denial about the necessary theological work they need to do in relation to abuse, inequality and injustice.

    In an article from 2019 addressing clerical abuse in the Roman Catholic Church, Susan A. Ross observes that ‘the insights that feminist theology offers to this crisis have not received the kind of attention they deserve’ and seeks to demonstrate both that ‘many (although not all) of the issues in clergy sexual abuse are theologically grounded’ and also that ‘feminist insights can contribute to a transformed church in which ?patriarchy and clericalism no longer dominate, where there is a healthy and holistic theology of sexuality, and ?where the voices of women and the laity are truly heard’ (Ross 2019, p. 633).?

    When viewed in relation to the ongoing safeguarding crisis within many churches, the risks inherent within dominant models of masculinity are clear to see.

    Within many such models, men are considered solitary, independent figures. They are expected to be both self-centred and self-reliant rather than understanding themselves in relation to a wider community. Men are encouraged to be the answer rather than to ask questions or listen to other people’s responses. They are called on to be strong, to ignore or decry their own and others’ vulnerabilities. Men are expected to lead rather than follow, receive instruction or advice. Men in leadership face pressure to be the charismatic leader, the hero, the saviour. As I have written elsewhere, the hero is best avoided.

    As part of their formation within such dominant models of masculinity, men are asked to deny or overcome emotions – framed as signs of weakness – and focus on the rational mind. They are kept at a distance from the realities of their own – and especially others’ – bodies. In different ways, and in a variety of settings, men are seen as creators and consumers, rather than those tasked with caring or cleaning up. This can result in a lack of attentiveness to the impact of actions or decisions.

    A model of masculinity found in some men’s spirituality movements is that of the ‘wild man’. While this model is less prevalent in British churches, it is present in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. This is a model focused on individual spiritual needs, sometimes to be pursued with aggression. It invites risk-taking rather than rule-following. Another model present in some Christian traditions is the successful man, whose presence is sought and whose failings are overlooked. A third model explored in Behold the Men is the family man, often found within a ‘culture of niceness’ which can mask power and stifle challenge. All three of these models – and others beside – need to be reconsidered if churches are to become places of wellbeing for all.

    Behold the Men offers some suggestions as to how churches might begin conversations around what it might mean to be a man of faith.

    1. Beginning with bodies

    ‘In our earliest conversations about the book, we talked about the importance of the body. While we cover shared ground with some systematic theology texts, we made a conscious decision to begin not with God but with human bodies, specifically, men’s bodies. Each chapter places bodies central to the discussion: naked, earthed, displaced, broken, of and in Christ, healing, resistant, receptive, created and connected’ (Beckford and Starr 2015, p. 4).

    We hope the book will help readers to listen to their own bodies and trust the insights offered: but not to be limited by their own embodied experiences. As Brazilian feminist theologian Ivone Gebara writes, ‘I have had … to listen with my whole body to what my particular body had not experienced concretely’ (Gebara 1995, p. 129).

    1. An ongoing conversation

    Behold the Men brings together more than a dozen contributors, who offer insights from a range of contexts, identities and theological traditions. The aim of the book is not to propel the reader towards a clear conclusion. Instead, it invites readers to listen carefully to different experiences, gain fresh insight and be encouraged to find new ways forward. It is not the first book exploring masculinities within Christianity, and we hope it will not be the last.

    1. ‘We Cannot Walk Alone’

    We chose to use Birmingham artist Eddy Aigbe’s painting, ‘We Cannot Walk Alone,’ for the book cover. Originally commissioned by Celebrating Sanctuary for Refugee Week in 2021, the image seeks to convey many different people coming together to shape more inclusive, just communities. In the work of justice, the wisdom, compassion and commitment of many is needed. We hope our book will be a resource for the journey. Certainly, there is much distance for our churches to travel if they are to be places where all bodies are welcomed, respected and honoured. Challenging violent and limiting models of masculinity within churches, exploring more inclusive and healthy ways of being men of faith, is long overdue.

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

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

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

    Theological Foundations and Ecclesiological Implications

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

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

    Postcolonial Critique and the Legacy of Colonialism

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Historical and Current Stances on Diversity

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

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

    White Elitism and Ecclesiastical Purity

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

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

    Not Reflecting the Vision of a Younger and More Diverse Church

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

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

    A Call to Action

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

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

    References:

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

     

  • 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.”

  • WWBD? What Would Barbie Do?

    barbie1.JPG

    By Anon.

    Above, The Rev. Dena Cleaver-Bartholomew, rector at Christ Church in Manlius, with a Barbie that was a gift from Rev. Julie Blake Fisher in Kent, Ohio. Photograph by David Lassman.

    As you are probably well aware, Barbie is the summer’s blockbuster movie. The premise of the film rests on haemorrhaging stark reality into a tightly engineered fantasy-land. The film immediately summons the paradoxes highlighted in the acclaimed 1998 satirical movie The Truman Show.

    Barbie (the movie) focusses on the most popular of all the Barbies in Barbieland, and begins with her experiencing a serious existential crisis. So, Odyssey-like, she travels to the human world in order to understand herself better and discover her truer purpose. Ken – a kind of boyfriend, albeit struggling with his low self-esteem issues and a sense that he is somewhat surplus to requirement – tags along. In Barbieland, men are, well, non-essential. But Ken and Barbie enter into this human world. Ken, all the while, remains acutely conscious that his own existence depends far too much on Barbie acknowledging him, or even treating him as an equal. She does not need to.

    The film pivots, as one might expect, on feminine nature – and the nature of feminism. Knowing something about the original creation of the Barbie doll is important here. In 1956, an American business developer, Ruth Handler, had observed her daughter (Barbara) playing with paper dolls, and noticed that she often enjoyed ascribing adult roles to the dolls. At that time, the vast majority of dolls were baby-like or toy representations of infants. Furthermore, the clothing with which the dolls were marketed, packaged and sold was often affixed to the doll.

    Handler, with her husband Eliot, who was a co-founder of the Mattel toy company, pitched the idea of an adult-bodied female doll with changes of clothes that gave her different roles. Mattel were initially cool on the idea, and it wasn’t until 1959 that Barbie launched. Yes, there were fashion clothes for Barbie and the inevitable nurse uniform. But there was an astronaut Barbie doll (1965) long before there was any actual woman in NASA’s astronaut corps (1978), let alone a woman in space.

    We forget that the Barbie dolls allowed young girls to imagine future roles that could barely have been contemplated by their mothers, yet had a normative existence in Barbieworld. Furthermore, Barbie’s multiple career possibilities were not subject to any male gaze or masculine censure claiming “such roles are unsuitable for women”. Barbie could be a flight attendant. But she could fly a jumbo jet too, long before airlines hired women as pilots. In Barbieworld, and in the Barbieland film, Barbie rules; and Barbie makes the rules.

    As one might hope, the movie acknowledges Barbie’s unrealistic physical proportions—and the very real body issues that these could create in young girls—while also celebrating her role as a feminist icon. Ken, in contrast, begins with a kind of ‘himbo frailty’ (as opposed to the threat of any ‘bimbo identity’ that some might attempt to foist on to Barbie).

    Yet as the film progresses, Ken goes from being Barbie’s uncertain and needy boyfriend to becoming some kind of advocate for macho-posturing and laddish culture, as he starts to think and act as a real man should behave. Without saying more about the film and issuing spoiler alerts, both Barbie and Ken discover a number of harsh truths and realities along their road to enlightenment. This is a funny, ironic and classy odyssey, and well worthy of the praise it has garnered.

    Well, since there has been a Barbie astronaut long before there was a female astronaut, I had wondered about a sequel to Barbie called Barbiechurch. There have been Barbie priest outfits for some time, and a few homemade Barbie bishops. To the best of my knowledge there has been no Barbie Cardinal, Archbishop or Pope. Yet. But in a more serious vein, I began to contemplate what the Barbie-doll-as-human, and Ken tagging along for the ride, might make of the Church of England at the moment?

    I think our heroine would be surprised and shocked by concepts such as ‘mutual flourishing’ and ‘complementarianism’. Not least because in Barbieland and Barbieworld, Ken is Barbie’s helpmeet and accessory. He is only there to complement her. No doubt he is there to compliment her as well. It is Ken who supports Barbie – and it is she who is the achiever and breadwinner. I think Barbie would be even more surprised to meet real women (human) who have signed up to inequality as being good, helpful and fair – which is still the simplest way to characterise ‘mutual flourishing’ and ‘complementarianism’. Furthermore, some women seem to think Manchurch (an odd kind of Fresh Expression full of ‘liberated’ Kens) is a great place for women to hang out and flourish. A kind of Frat House spiritual community? Women keen on ‘mutual flourishing’ love it, apparently, and find it all very convivial. (Though statistics on women sticking around in or moving to such dioceses suggests otherwise).

    I’m also wondering how this would play out with any potential new outfits available for the Barbie doll range? I can see a promising line of clothes that might draw on the BBC TV series Call the Midwife. But I suspect that the Admiral, Chief Engineer, Jet Pilot, President, Judge and Priest garb will be in short supply.

    The Church of England is currently beset with all manner of knotted and barbed issues it seems unable to address, let alone resolve. Despite Living in Love and Faith (LLF), the conversations and resolutions on human sexuality seem less than honest, and at times bizarrely surreal. Special dispensations for those who hold ‘honoured views’ or have ‘alternative-but-traditional positions on the role of women’ are sanctified.

    The Church of England would not, today, attempt this on the grounds of skin colour, ethnicity, class, disability or any circumstances where the person deemed to be a sign of social deviance was not ‘at fault’ (e.g., they were born illegitimate, or conceived through a mixed-race liaison, or a wife deserted and destroyed by the infidelity of their husband). The Church of England would not attempt to hold two opposite but mutually incompatible views on slaves and slavery. But the Church of England does do this with sexuality and gender.

    Of course, you are not allowed to draw this historical comparison to the attention of the leadership. It is deemed to be impolite and unpolitic to remind church leaders and bishops that the Church of England used to discriminate against all of these groups, even refusing them communion, holy matrimony, ordination and the like. To do some history homework would, apparently, be “unhelpful”. Nobody wants to be reminded that, back in the day, we discriminated against all manner of persons on the grounds of their colour, class and condition.

    WWBD? What would Barbie do now in a real-world situation where we had two mutually incompatible integrities on slavery, disability, ethnicity or class? It wouldn’t wash in Barbieland or Barbieworld. Just take a brief look at the range of Barbie dolls over the years. “Colored Francie“, a version of Barbie’s cousin, was marketed in 1967,  although Black and Latina Barbies were not available until the 1980s. The medium was the message.

    Church of England double-think is an elephant occupying the chancel, sitting in the sanctuary or propped up in the pulpit. But you are not allowed to say what you see. The ground rules in Churchyworld dictate that discriminatory views have the same equal value as progressive views. And that views and values of the wider public (which are, incidentally, overwhelmingly pro-equality) have no part to play in the doll-world where Ken rules.

    There is no play-world where Barbie supports or submits to Ken. All credit to Mattel and Ruth Handler here. We have never been offered a ‘Submissive Barbie’, ‘Helpmeet-Vicar’s-Wife’ or even so much as a Deaconess Doll. The striking element of Barbieworld is that girls are being given imaginative empowering possibilities: to become what they aspire to be. Furthermore, I am always struck by how many of the Barbie costumes exemplify professionalism and servant leadership (unlike Action Man; or poor Ken).

    There are many stalwart Synod advocates striving for an awakening of the church. For recovering our social and political conscience, albeit with its long history of struggling with a weak pulse, and failing to live out its calling as a full-blooded incarnational entity. But as I observed General Synod discussing safeguarding in July – I think especially of the wigged-up-gowned lawyers, dress-down episcopal garb (bishop Ken beach holiday attire seemed to be in vogue) – I did ask myself how real the Church of England currently is?

    The Archbishops’ Council and their presentations on safeguarding might just as well have come from mannequins or dolls. Theirs was juvenile staged play; a plastic and inauthentic tea party with no genuine humanity detectable at all. Indeed, you’d find more genuine humanity and reality in Barbieworld or Barbieland.

    So, what would Barbie do with the Church of England today? I think she’d conclude that of the two – Churchyworld and Barbieworld – the latter is the more real and far more human than the former. WWBD? Stay at home in Barbieland, where Ken knows his place, struggles with his insecurity and identity, women are free to be themselves and can aspire to anything, and nobody has to pretend.

    Pretence is the key, and that is what makes Barbie such a great, and even subtle-deep movie, recalling the Toy Story trilogy. It is ironic that in the world of play, pretending is meant to be there for imagination and pleasure and, much like theatre, not a substitute for reality. The purpose of child’s play, or staged play, is to hold up a mirror to reality, and help us to perceive our world and imagine it in some better state.

    Yet in the Church of England, pretending – and silly pretence-denials – have now become so normal and fundamental to its everyday functioning, we have forgotten what reality actually is. WWBD?