ViaMedia

Category: Transgender

  • International Women’s Day – Choose to Challenge

    by the Rt Revd Rachel Treweek, Bishop of Gloucester

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And today it is about women.

     

  • Church of England: Will the Quest for Youth Save Us?

    by Dr Charlie Bell, Fellow at Girton College, Cambridge and ordinand at St Augustine’s College of Theology

    The Church of England has a serious age problem. Or so, at least, we are reliably informed.

    Dioceses are scrabbling around to improve their ‘provision’ to younger people, and at the same time we are told that we should be aiming to be a younger and more diverse church.

    In the first instance, and as someone I think is probably still defined as ‘young’ in church terms, I should admit to finding the language a little bit uncomfortable. I understand, of course, what the point being made is – and any church that wants a future needs to encourage people through its door, including young people. Looking around many of our congregations, it’s certainly true that there are many grey hairs and rather fewer teenagers. That, however, is no excuse for ageism. For far too long, the Church of England has been complacent about its membership, and for years the faithful have continued to pay the parish share, staff the churches, keep the show on the road. Many of these people are now elderly and continue their faithful witness. It seems ungrateful, at best, to bemoan their preponderance in the church.

    In much discussion about the state of today’s church, the elderly seem to be the focus of attack. ‘Once all the old people die out’, a middle-aged person told me during a lecture at theological college, ‘then we can get rid of the BCP, and start focusing on services which are relevant’. Meanwhile, the elderly are casually described as being the most conservative in our churches, despite there being little to no evidence of this being the case. Churches that focus on outreach to the elderly never seem to feature in the shiny Church of England webpages – despite the loneliness epidemic that blights so many of our communities, made even more acute by the current pandemic.

    This obsession with the young, and primarily the able bodied, straight, married young, seems to have taken over so much of the marketing of a church that claims to follow a ‘despised and rejected’ man of the margins. The answer to all the church’s problems often appears to be a superficial commitment to loud music, beautifully presented videos and incessantly, ludicrously, smiling people, who appear to be the models for 1980s action figures. Everything in life is not roses, as even a brief foray into the human situations in which so much of the world finds itself would suggest. Yet many in the church seem to genuinely think that obsessive optimism and ‘relevance’ is what young people are looking for. If only we could be more ‘relevant’, they tell us, then there would be more people coming through our doors. Yet even when young people are encouraged through the door, we barely touch the surface of the wider population, and they don’t tend to stick around.

    I cannot count the number of times I’ve sat through excruciating church talks about how to be more ‘relevant’. The irony of a middle-aged person telling me (someone in their 30s) how my age group might become ‘churched’ seems to be lost most of the time. The solutions are always couched in terms of presentation and polish – never in terms of substance. Not once has someone giving one of these well-meaning but highly condescending talks appeared to have asked – what might we learn from the people who aren’t coming through our doors? What could we, the church, be getting wrong – rather than what might all the ‘youth’ gain from our great store of knowledge?

    What the Church of England seems to have missed is that we are no longer simply an irrelevance to the great majority of young people – and not only the young. We run the risk of being seen by many in wider society today as an agent of immorality, not morality.

    Opening the Living in Love and Faith book a month or so ago, I will admit to being less depressed than I thought I might be. Some of the content is really good, and some of it manages to move beyond the tired arguments we have gotten used to in recent years. However, one question remained for me – to whom exactly is this book supposed to be addressed? Or, more pertinently – what does a book like this tell the rest of the world about who we are, as a church?

    The reality is that we are aeons behind the rest of the world on so many moral questions – and chief amongst these is the rights, lives and loves of LGBT people. Many friends and secular colleagues of mine are disgusted when they hear that we don’t ‘do’ same-sex marriages, or that our clergy get sacked for having them. It’s incomprehensible to most young people – and, indeed, amongst a huge number of the not-so-young. When we wonder why our mission is failing, we never seem to ask the difficult questions. It’s not presentation that people have a problem with – it’s our message. We used to defend slavery. We continue to oppress LGBT people.

    Time and time again, we hear senior clergy opposing ‘all kinds of discrimination’ – just not, it seems, discrimination against LGBT people. We hear platitudes, but rarely a serious commitment to listen. And when it’s pointed out that the church is on the wrong side of history, we are fed nonsense about the fact that we are now in an age where we the Church are being ‘persecuted for righteousness sake’. Jesus told us we would never be popular, we are told – so who cares what the world thinks? We are told there is virtue in being persecuted, and being ‘against the world’. Yet persecution for its own sake is not what the Gospel is about.

    Do we really claim that secular society can teach us nothing? Do we really believe there is nothing to learn about human flourishing from other disciplines?

    I’ve grown very tired of hearing the mantra that the Church of England moves slowly, and that we shouldn’t be impatient about change. A slow and steady boat with holes in it will sink before it reaches the shore. Time is running out on this question, most particularly if the church wants to maintain any sense of moral authority. Covering our ears and pleading self-righteousness doesn’t cut it. It’s time we left the echo chamber and recognised what is already happening around us.

    People in same-sex relationships are already living holy lives. They are already getting married to each other. They are already loving God.

    We just haven’t recognised it yet. And it’s a mission imperative that we do.

  • To Sign or Not To Sign – A Bishop’s Dilemma

    by Jayne Ozanne, Editor of ViaMedia and Director of the Global Commission on LGBT+ Lives

    It has been very interesting reading the various responses from a range of bishops around the world to my invitation to them, and to other faith leaders, to sign our Global Interfaith Commission on LGBT+ Live’s recent Declaration.

    This Declaration is boldly entitled “Declaring the Sanctity of Life and the Dignity of All” because that in essence is what this whole project is about: it declares that all lives are sacred, and that all should be treated with dignity.  We wrote it – with input from our Inter-Religious Advisory Board – in such a way that we hoped no religious leader could have a problem with it.  Surely we could agree that, independent of our theological views on LGBT relationships, LGBT+ people should have the right to life and that they should be treated with dignity…?

    After all, there are 72 countries around the world where LGBT+ are still at risk of being locked up, and 11 where we are at risk of being put to death – purely for being found to gay or lesbian. It is sadly an even higher number (at least 15 countries) for those who are transgender. As we know all too well, there are a far larger number of countries – including the UK – where conversion therapy is still legal. So we hoped that religious leaders would want to join forces and speak out against the practices that have been classed as torture by the International Rehabilitation Council for Torture Victims.

    But of course it wasn’t that easy.

    It was fascinating to see the critical role of leadership here.  In Canada, where Archbishop Linda Nicholls was one of the first to sign, many other Canadian bishops immediately followed suit.  Similarly, in Scotland and Wales.  I’m thrilled to say that we now have 10 Archbishops, 9 from within the Anglican Communion, who have signed – the most recent being the Archbishop of Norway, Rt Revd Olav Tveit (the former General Secretary of the World Council of Churches).

    It was just as fascinating to see the excuses that many came up with for not signing.

    I will be honest and say, without breaching any confidences, that these letters from known allies made me very angry.  Did they still not get the power differential at play between those in power to change things and those with none, who tragically fall prey to draconian regimes?  Did they still not understand the lives that were being lost, often because no one was speaking out into the silence?  Did they still think this was about appeasing their conservative friends, so as not to risk losing them – whilst at the same time they were losing countless others?

    Interestingly, this became the focus of the discussion towards the end of our final session of our Global Interfaith Commission on LGBT+ Lives conference on Wednesday.  The conversation came as a result of a typically bold and honest comment in the Zoom chat from Bishop Alan Wilson:

    “I think it’s a fear of aggression that is holding things back more than anything else in the Church of England, and we really need to stop throwing LGBT people under the bus to try and placate them”

    Archbishop Mark Strange, Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church, had just shared how his relationships with other ecumenical partners had in fact strengthened after their General Synod had taken the decision to allow same-sex marriages.  He said that whilst there had been some initial anxiety that they might become isolated, the reality was that they hadn’t been. Instead he said that in Scotland “they were in better relationship with other ecumenical churches than they had been for many many years”.  He admitted that there were some who still struggled as they didn’t like what had happened, but he added that hadn’t been excluded from anywhere.  Instead, he found that people wanted to have a conversation and hear what he had to say. 

    Reflecting on this, Rabbi Laura said: “yes we are frightened of aggression, which is the other side of anxiety – anxiety and aggression/anger are either sides of the same coin.” She then went on to ask: 

    “How do you flip the coin of anger and aggression so that people can express their anxieties?  How do you vaccinate (people) against aggression?”

    Archbishop Mark’s answer was unequivocal: “the only way you can do this is in relationship”. 

    He recognised that whilst there were indeed people who did not want to speak to him, he had decided to just keep on talking to them anyway.  As he explained, “it’s very difficult to maintain anger with someone you are in relationship with, with someone who wants to keep talking to you”. 

    And the learning from this?

    Well, as Bishop Paul concluded – he hoped he could play this recording to other bishops and show them that “it is not the end of the world to say what you think!”

    So, faith leader, what do you think?  Will you sign our Declaration? Others have.

    You can do so publicly or privately – just click here!

  • Living in Love & Faith – My Journey

    by Rt Revd Christopher Cocksworth, Bishop of Coventry and Chair of the Living in Love and Faith project

    I am very grateful to be asked to contribute to Via Media and to share some thoughts on Living in Love and Faith shortly after its publication.

    I’m writing this a week before the launch itself and, perhaps as you can imagine, my anxiety levels are steadily rising. By the time you read this, LLF in its several forms – book, course, films, podcasts and online library – will have been released, with all sorts of assessments in its wake. You may well have formed your own view, though I’m hoping people will hold their final judgement until they’ve engaged in some way with the range of material in its different forms, and also given the whole lot a chance to do the work it’s intended to do. I certainly don’t want to try to sell LLF to you or to cover over any of its faults that you’ve spotted already, and all of us will be able to find many, I’m sure. Rather, I’d like to share something of my experience of living with this project over these last years, and trying to so with love, faith and – yes – hope.

    I had a load of mixed emotions when I was asked to chair LLF’s Coordinating Group back in 2017. As much as I sensed, in fear and trembling, the scale of the challenge that it would involve, there was something about it that struck chords with me and the experiences that God had led me through. Academically, I’ve long been interested in how different people and perspectives can be held together by seeing that which is of Christ in each other and hearing that which is of the gospel in each other’s position. In ministry, I’ve been called to Coventry to share its remarkable story of peace and to live out something of the prophetic words spoken by the then Provost in the BBC’s 1940 Christmas service broadcast to the nations from the ruins of the Cathedral’s bombed out remains.

    ‘What we want to tell the world is this: that with Christ born again in our hearts . . . We’re going to try to make a kinder, simpler, a more Christ-child-like, sort of world in the days beyond this strife’.

    Well, although I soon discovered that simplicity was a virtue LLF would find difficult to embody (everything we discussed together was layered in complexity), I came to see that it was a very great opportunity to build a kinder and more Christ-child-like Church for the sake of the world; and that it would need to be rooted at every moment in the simplicity of the Coventry prayer – ‘Father, forgive’.

    About mid-way through the project, I encountered the work of Hartmut Rosa, a German sociologist who contends that our relationships in the modern world have become mute and that we have become deaf to each other, indeed to the world itself. He describes the need to overcome the alienation many people experience that can lead to a sense of ‘every day despair’ or even hostility. He proposes that we can do so by engendering resonance between people in their deep identity and dearly held views, and so be at greater peace in the world. These are the final words of Resonance, his weighty book on the subject:

    ‘A better world is possible, and it can be recognised by the central criterion, which is no longer domination and control, but listening and responding.’

    That helped me to understand better what I’d seen happening as around forty very different people with diverse life experiences and various – and often conflicting – views and beliefs met and worked, spoke and wrote, ate, drank and prayed together over many demanding days. I could see that a deep listening was taking place in each of us and that we were responding to each other, to what we felt, thought, believed, hoped and prayed for, listening and responding together to scripture and the theological tradition. Listening and responding to God. And that seemed to me to be the responsibility of LLF – to allow us, difficult as it can be, and it was really difficult most of the time, to listen to each other, to ensure that we had heard well and that we had truly allowed each other’s voice to be heard, and to respond in love, faith, and with hope.

    I’ve learnt a lot about identity, sexuality, relationships and marriage over these years, and my prayer is that the LLF resources will help those who make use of them to travel their own long and rich journey of learning through them. I’ve learnt a lot about myself as well – about, as the Pastoral Principles put it, my ignorance, prejudices, hypocrisy and fears, as well as my failures to give silence a voice and attend to my own use of power. But it’s been the opportunity to come to know other Christians more deeply, to see into their lives and to understand better their strongest convictions and highest hopes that will have been the abiding gift of these last years for me.

    Those colleagues are too numerous to name but I will – if I may – mention three: Alex (a gift to LLF from the URC), who is trans, Giles (a contributor to Via Media and Vicar of St John’s Waterloo), who is gay, and Jason (an Adviser to the Bishop of London and former curate at Christ Church, Mayfair), who is straight. As members of the LLF Coordinating Group, we’ve worked closely together. We must have spent hundreds of hours in meetings together right up to the launch. I know they have given many more hundreds of hours to our common task, shaping texts, framing films, creating podcasts, arguing and contending, listening and responding. I also know something, though only the surface, of the cost they have had to bear in our endeavours, and I worry that the price they have been asked to pay will have risen since the launch. I have seen Christ in them and heard the gospel through them.

    Yes, we have further to travel along the way of Christ’s truth. We are not done with our listening to God and discerning how we faithfully respond to God. But this I know: we belong together because we belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.

  • Resignations, Dysfunctionality and the House of Bishops

    by Jayne Ozanne, Editor of ViaMedia, Director of the Ozanne Foundation and Member of General Synod

    I resigned from my Bishop’s Council this week.

    The decision has been a long time coming – I’ve felt I’ve been hitting my head against a brick wall over our failure to prioritise the poor and disadvantaged, especially given we are such a rich diocese, for years. In fact, I’ve been banging the drum since I got onto Council five years ago. Interestingly, even though we constantly rated serving the poor in our diocese as a “the top priority” during our discussions, it rarely seemed to make the cut into any paperwork . In virtually every meeting I can remember I have had to remind those in authority of the commitments we had agreed as a Council.

    I realised things would never change when after one Diocesan Synod meeting I was told, when the priority yet again failed to be mentioned to those gathered, that it was because it was too long to fit on the slide! All rather ironic given that we’d just had a report that emphasised the real issue in our diocese was that of “hidden poverty”!

    In truth, I know I was as tired of banging my drum as Council members were of hearing it.

    So, eventually, it got to the point where I felt that the best way for them to hear me was by my absence. You see, sometimes leaving is the only way left for people to be heard….

    Since I resigned, I’ve been reflecting on why it is so difficult for those in the central Church or Diocesan structures to hear what those outside or on the fringes of the Church see as completely obvious. It came into sharp focus again this week with the IICSA report which stated what so many of us have been saying for some time now – that we need a completely independent safeguarding system in the Church in order for it to be fully functional.

    I have decided that the real problem is that our boards and councils are populated by mostly white, mostly male, mostly middle class and mostly middle aged (and that’s being kind) people who all hold virtually the same world view – and who are incapable of recognising that there is legitimacy to any other view other than their own. Because they all end up endorsing each other, they confirm their own legitimacy, and nothing therefore ever changes.

    That’s why we find it difficult to embrace those from other backgrounds – those that are different to the monochrome “norm” that the Church of England has built into the warp and weft of its very foundations. You just have to look at the make up of General Synod to see what I mean.

    It is why we’ve an appalling record on nearly every measure of diversity – we are seen by those “on the outside and margins” as racist, sexist, homophobic and transphobic. We are outrageously bad at dealing with people with differing abilities too. Although it’s “not good show” of course for us to admit this in public.

    And what does this “monochrome” system result in? Well, I won’t be popular in saying this, but I believe this ultimately results in the single most critical problem for us as a Church. It’s the real root of most of our problems, which few are prepared to admit let alone publicly name – it is that we have a leadership structure that is, I’m afraid to say, deeply dysfunctional. It seems our House of Bishops operates like a boys public school, with prefects and head boys who whip the younger boys (and they are of course mostly boys!) into line. It may seem like the body that so many aspire to, but once you’re there you get sucked into colluding with a system that few feel able to break free from. Although thankfully, there are some brave individuals who do.

    It is interesting to question why so few have called this out publicly over all these years?

    Especially given that to many of us on the outside and fringes this dysfunction is plain to see. We have bishops leading double lives, which no one seems to bother about or challenge. We have bishops preaching one thing and practicing another, particularly when it comes to the way in which they treat LGBT+ clergy in their midst. We have bishops who lament safeguarding failures, but whose own record is pretty poor. It all leads to a postcode lottery, which everyone knows about but no one does anything about because they (we?) have all got too much to lose…or worse, that they don’t think that somehow anyone will notice.

    But we do, and we all know. The charade was up a long time ago.

    It’s just like my own experience with Bishop’s Council – no one can be bothered to bang the drum any more. We are resigned to letting it all continue, with no one rocking the boat.

    But time is running out. Many are tiring of this game. And they’re leaving.

    So much so that soon the primary problem won’t be the fear of people rocking the boat, but rather the fear of ensuring that there are still people who are prepared to sail in it!

    So reform is needed – and it needs to start at the top.

    The House of Bishops is about to release resources for the Church of England to engage with over sexuality. What they seem to have failed to see (again!) is that the vast majority of people in the pews made up their minds about LGBT issues long ago….what they’re waiting for is for the House of Bishops to finally do so themselves. And to do so in a way that has some credibility.

    So it’s time the House of Bishops had an OFSTED inspection. They need to turn the mirror on themselves and take a long hard look at what they see. They need to be honest about their dysfunctionality, their divisions and their double standards.

    Miracles can happen – and with God’s grace this might just be one of them. Goodness knows we need it!

  • One for All and All for One?

    by the Very Revd Dr David Ison, Dean of St Paul’s, member of General Synod and Vice-Chair of the Ozanne Foundation

    The words which bind together Alexander Dumas’ Three Musketeers are also the unofficial motto of Switzerland, and date back at least to Shakespeare. It might well be a Christian motto too, echoing Paul’s reference to Jesus’ cross and resurrection (‘one has died for all’, 2 Corinthians 5.14) and affirming our loyalty to him, and to one another as members of Christ’s body.

    But it’s not a motto which the Church is or has been good at living out. The COVID-19 pandemic, Extinction Rebellion, Black Lives Matter and Living in Love and Faith together open a window of opportunity – of necessity – for the Church to do things differently. We are offered the chance to live radically with difference. But will we take it?

    In his September 15th blog on Via Media, Charlie Bell highlighted the importance of ‘intersectionality’ and that the Church has largely ignored it. Most people, including many Christians, will be unaware of the word (I had to look it up!). But nearly all of us, whether Christian or not, are caught up in what it refers to. Formally, it means the interconnection of various forms of oppression. That’s often what people experience: for example, an older black trans working-class person living in poverty suffers in themselves the intersection of multiple discriminations and oppression.

    But as Charlie Bell noted, this also applies to struggles for justice. Solidarity together by those oppressed in different ways is a powerful response, affirming intersectionality. Think of Desmond Tutu’s ‘Rainbow Nation’ and the welcome given to gay people as well as people of all colours – though this isn’t a welcome affirmed by the whole Church. Which is why the Church is perceived as oppressive: because it divides people and makes different rules to apply to them. On ‘theological’ or ‘practical’ grounds we split up those who are discriminated against – by the Church and by others – into different categories. We encourage them to remain in their boxes as individual problems to be solved, rather than taking the risk of helping them come together to work for shared love and justice for all God’s people, of whatever age, sex, gender, race, (dis)ability, sexual orientation, marital status or belief.

    There’s nothing new in this. The New Testament offers the picture of a Church called to live in radical love and justice, preaching the gospel of God’s loving salvation for all equally, living together in mutual love; and at the same time the picture of a Church struggling to make this real in practice. Whether it’s the book of Acts describing Palestinian and Hellenist Jewish believers squabbling over money in Jerusalem, or tensions between Gentiles and Jews in the early churches; or Paul addressing disunity in Corinth and elsewhere; or John writing about God’s love while excluding others from that love – the Church has had to work hard, and often failed, to transcend the social divisions and prejudices of the world around it, and has too often aided and abetted oppression rather than brought justice and love.

    Ask black people about the churches’ role in profiting from slavery and its support for the injustices of the British Empire in the past, and their experiences of racism in churches in the present. Ask working-class people of any colour about how welcome they feel their ministry is to the church. Ask women, gay and trans people how they feel about churches continuing to exercise institutional discrimination against them. Ask the survivors of abuse in the churches how they have been treated by the systems meant to protect them.

    How do we do it differently and together: ‘One for all and all for one’? The Living in Love and Faith (LLF) process in the Church of England is an opportunity to work in an intersectional way, and open up the conversation to include people of disability, people of non-white colour and non-middle class background, women in ministry and those who don’t believe they should be there – and of course LGBTI+ people who have often felt marginalised and excluded. But that requires local churches to not only own and take part in the LLF process, but to use it to listen and respond positively to all who have experienced structural oppression in church life, and look at how to work for justice not only within the church but also in the structures of society.

    In a recent newspaper article the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London wrote of the need for local decision-making, with central authority doing only what it has to do. It was written against the background of disquiet about central Church of England guidance about responding to the coronavirus, to reaffirm the importance of parishes and local Christian communities in living out the Gospel of Christ locally in practical as well as spiritual ways. And if local churches don’t take seriously the issues of oppression and social justice, then whatever archbishops may say, the Church of England as a whole will continue to relinquish its role and mar its commendation of the Christian gospel to the nation.

    The point of being local, and maintaining thriving local churches, isn’t to perpetuate the existence of the church; it’s to transform people’s lives and the life of society – to do justice and love kindness and walk humbly with the Lord. Together. One for all and all for one.

  • Voices of Hope – April 6th 2019

    “Hope in the Desert” (Part 6) – “Holy Ground” by the Revd Sarah Jones

    Sarah Jones

    Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.’ When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’ Then he said, ‘Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’ He said further, ‘I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.’ And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.  (Exodus 3: 1-6)

    I’ve always been struck by this passage. I can picture Moses seeing the bush and noticing that it was not being consumed. I can imagine him looking more closely. I can hear God calling out to him from the bush and declaring himself to be ‘the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’.

    The events are extraordinary. God appears in the bush and in speech. There is an angel. Suffused with God’s presence, the ground itself is declared to be ‘holy’ and thereby the holiness of God is proclaimed. Moses removes his sandals and signifies his submission to God. This is rich stuff.

    However, when we are familiar with a passage we can easily overlook a detail or two. And some overlooked details are golden.

    I’d never paid too much attention to where this incident took place. We are told that it happened at Horeb, the mountain of God which has long been associated with Mount Sinai. What I had not appreciated was that this moment of God’s self-revelation to Moses and this site for holy ground was in land which was hostile to the Israelites. The Midianites eventually joined with the Moabite king Balak in asking Balaam to curse the Israelites as they migrated through the land.

    As a member of the LGBTIQ+ community I sometimes feel as if we are in a land which is hostile to us.

    Parts of the institutional churches and some of the most shrill Christian voices, question our worthiness before God. This passage from Exodus reminds me that even here I may see signs of God’s presence and glory.

    It reminds me that the land on which we stand today is holy ground. We may be cursed by others and there will be difficult days but I shall continue to try to reverence God and God’s creation as we move towards a promised land of inclusion and love.

    A Prayer

    Holy God, Help us to see you in the dry places of our lives and so quicken our steps towards your kingdom.

    Amen.

    Next Week – a series of reflections on “Truths to Live By”

     

  • Voices of Hope – April 3rd 2019

    “Hope in a Desert Place” (Part 3) – “Flying High” by Elaine Sommers

    Elaine Sommers

    I am a bit of a birdwatcher, although you won’t find me hiding in the bushes with binoculars and a notebook. No, I just love watching birds, especially when they’re in flight. The ones which I enjoy most are those which soar. I’ve marvelled at red kites in the Wye Valley, eagles in the Scottish Highlands and lammergeiers in Nepal.

    And from early childhood I dreamt that one day I would be able to fly.

    So, as a student I took up skydiving, which gave me the feeling of floating, although I was actually falling to earth at 120 miles per hour. Later I switched to paragliding, probably the nearest a human can get to flight. I learnt to circle in thermals, and once or twice had the privilege of soaring with the birds, following them towards the clouds.

    My chosen verse has come to mean so much to me in my life, although I must confess that I have spent much of it flapping my wings in my own strength.

    But there was another reason why I took to the air. As a trans person, born male, one of the reasons I took up these adventurous activities was an attempt to expunge the female side of my identity from my life. As I discovered, it didn’t work!

    Then came the day when I crashed my glider and nearly died. As I lay on my back, a voice in my head said: ‘I knew I’d get my way in the end’.

    From that moment, I knew that my struggle with my gender was over. I realised that Elaine was an integral part of me and I had found an inner peace, and most importantly peace with God.

    I often think of the eagles and how they rely on those invisible currents of air to lift them up to new heights. Trusting God’s Spirit to lead us through life in all we do is so important.

    Every day I thank God for sparing my life and leading me daily to new things.

    A Prayer

    Help us God to trust you for everything and not rely on our own strength. Fill us with your Spirit to be ourselves and to reach new heights for you.   

    Amen.

    Tomorrow – Clare Bryden, “Springs in the Desert”, Psalm 84: 5 – 6

     

  • Voices of Hope – March 25th 2019

    “The Healing Power of Love” (Part 1) – “Under the Shadow of God’s Wings” by the Revd Hannah Cartwright

    Hannah Cartwright

    Like many of my LGBTQI+ siblings, I have spent much of my life in the shadows; belonging neither to the world of extravagant pride in the uniqueness of my embodied personhood, nor to the world of easy acceptance as a person who ‘passes’ for a ‘straight cis-gender woman’.

    It has been easier at times for me to hide in the shadows to avoid answering difficult questions. For many, the shadows are associated with being a place of shame, but there are also many examples in the Bible (most notably in the psalms) where the shadow of God is a place of safety, comfort, refuge and rest.

    The psalmist in Psalm 63: 7 praises God for being their help, and delights that under the shadow of God’s wing, they can, at last, rejoice.

    LGBTQI+ Christians are well aware that living under the shadow of social oppression, the assumptions of others or the unjust expectation to conform to a hetero-normative church and society, can lead to poor mental health, a sense of spiritual desolation and profound hurt. However, to live in the shadow of God’s wing, is to be covered by the shade and protection of the God who, like a mother-hen, gathers her children lovingly into her embrace, shields them and holds them close to her heart.

    God has a history of subverting the seemingly desolate places in which we find ourselves and enabling them to instead become places of huge spiritual growth, where faith is both birthed and forged, and in which, we can discover the truth of our God-given personhood; realised most-fully in the embrace of Christ’s love.

    My firm hope is that, one day, the only shadow any child of God will ever live under, is the wing of The Almighty. Then will be the day that we can all sing songs of joy.

    A Prayer

    May the wing of the Loving God bring you strength and protection,
    May Their shadow shield you from the heat of injustice;
    May Their embrace be your help and comfort in times of need;
    May Their delight in you help you see yourself through Their eyes;
    May Their faithfulness give you cause to sing for joy;
    And may you rest a while in safety as They nestle you close to Their heart.

    Amen

    Tomorrow – the Revd Andrew Foreshew-Cain, “Be Still”, Psalm 46: 10

  • Voices of Hope – March 22nd 2019

    “Created in God’s Image” (Part 5) – “No More Shame” by the Revd Dr Tina Beardsley

    Tina Beardsley

    These verses came alive for me in 1989: a momentous year. In May the first breach of the Iron Curtain occurred in Hungary. In November the Wall dividing East and West Berliners for thirty years began to be demolished. That November the protective walls I’d erected around my gender identity were also breached, in answer to prayer, though I didn’t realise that’s what I was praying for!

    There were two factors.

    I’d been ordained in 1978 into a Church of England with no official policy on gay people, let alone trans people. My theological college principal, bishop and training incumbent, all knew I had a male partner, Rob (from 2007 my husband).

    It wasn’t a problem – apparently.

    But then, in 1989, General Synod debated sexuality and decided it was. I was also grieving the death of a mentor. And my life slipped out of control.

    So, I prayed, more earnestly than I’d ever done before for myself.

    A few days later, I woke in the early hours with these words formed in my mind: ‘God loves me, including the fact that I’m gay.’ I believed I had to say them in my sermon the following day, which I did. A few days later, a parishioner praised me for coming out: ‘It’s a great role model to see a gay man in a caring profession.’

    Immediately, I said to myself: ‘But I never said I was a man!’

    Coming out publicly about the gender I’m attracted to, began a journey of self-acceptance about my gender identity. It was indeed an answer to prayer. Gender variance, like variant sexual orientation, has attracted so much shame and stigma. But from then on, I felt loved by God, in my sexuality and my gender identity, and knew I must no longer feel ashamed.

    A Prayer

    Gracious God, your love breaks down walls of partition, including those we build within ourselves. When our defences crumble, and we feel exposed, may we trust that your love will reach us, at the core of our being, to banish shame and stigma and make us agents of your kingdom, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

    Amen

    Tomorrow – Canon Robert Hammond, “The Best Bolly!”, 2 Cor 4:7