Tag: baptism

  • A Question of Conscience

    by Revd Ruth Harley (Vicar, Cowgate and Priest in Charge, Newbiggin Hall)

    Standing at the font, I smiled at the scene unfolding in front of me. A happily gurgling baby and his two proud parents, surrounded by his new godparents and family and friends, talking and laughing and taking photos. When they had arrived for the Christening, this little lad’s parents had been somewhat nervous, clearly unsure about being in church and whether they and their guests were really welcome. Of course I had done my best to put them at their ease, and it had gone so well (if I say so myself) that now, as they called me over for a photo with the church’s newest member, I found myself thinking “oh crumbs, I do hope they’re not going to ask me to marry them.”

    But hang on – isn’t that a bit of an odd thing for a priest to think? Aren’t we supposed to want people to have such a good experience of church that they want to come back to mark the most significant moments of their lives in the presence of God?

    This has all the makings of a future good news case study for the diocesan website, surely. A couple bring a child for baptism, unsure if church is really for them, and are so warmly welcomed that they decide to get married in church too. Maybe they start exploring questions about faith during the marriage prep course. Maybe they start coming on a Sunday, or bringing their little one to Messy Church. Maybe one or both of them goes on to be confirmed.  Maybe in 5 years they’re on all the rotas and the PCC. Maybe in 10 years this is the story one of them tells at a selection conference for ordination. Maybe… It’s a situation which has potential, anyway.

    So why was I, against all my better instincts, hoping that this couple would not ask me to marry them? Quite simply, because they are both women. And while nothing would give me greater joy than to declare them wife and wife in the sight of God, whose love shines through their relationship on even a brief acquaintance, as a priest in the Church of England I am not permitted to do so. Which means that, every time a same-sex couple asks me to marry them (which, as an ‘out’ lesbian priest, happens not infrequently) I have to act against my conscience.

    In saying ‘no’ – and of course I say it as sensitively and pastorally as possible, but really there is no good way to say ‘no’ to someone’s most cherished and life-giving relationship – I am also, I believe, acting against the best interests of that couple, and of the church, which could be so richly blessed by their presence.

    To act against my conscience, against my understanding of God’s calling both on my life and the life of the couple coming to ask for marriage, against the good of that couple and of the church, is painful. It is a form of moral injury. And done repeatedly, it takes a toll which is spiritual, emotional and physical.

    A great deal has been written and spoken during the LLF process about conscience. The House of Bishops is keen (and rightly so) that no clergy should be forced against their conscience to use the Prayers of Love and Faith, and has offered repeated assurances on this point. However, while much has been made of the consciences of those who believe the PLF go too far, little if any consideration seems to have been given to the consciences of those of us who think the PLF go nowhere near far enough. It is almost as if the House of Bishops doesn’t really believe we have a conscience that is worth considering.

    But we do have a conscience. And we act against it, frequently and painfully, in obedience to the discipline of the church which we have promised to uphold. The cost of acting against our conscience is high, and it is largely unacknowledged.

    Is it too much to ask that, just as the consciences of our colleagues with more conservative views on sexuality is respected, our conscience should be respected too? Apparently it is, if the most recent House of Bishops’ statement on LLF is anything to go by.

    There is no acknowledgement in this statement, and I don’t believe there has been in any of its predecessors, that all over the country hundreds of clergy are already required to act against our conscience, regarding the church’s response to same-sex relationships. Many of us continue to do so, doing our best to serve faithfully within a church which shows startlingly little consideration for our conscience, our integrity, or really our very humanity. Many others have found the cognitive, emotional and spiritual dissonance too great, and have left – either for another province, another denomination, or another path in life altogether. Their going is an enormous loss to the church yet, like the conscience of those of us who stay, has gone almost entirely unacknowledged.

    One of the greatest lies of the LLF process – and there have been many – is that we all approach it on equal terms, with equal power, equal stakes, and equal voices. That is not, and has never been, true.

    That inequality is nowhere more evident than in how our consciences are (dis)regarded.

    For those espousing a conservative position on same-sex relationships, their consciences are named as worth regarding, and assurances given that they will be protected. And when their conscience prompts them to say that they will leave if particular steps are taken, that is weighed as a significant factor in the decision-making of the church. Their consciences are treated as significant.

    For those espousing a progressive position on same-sex relationships, our conscience is not acknowledged: neither the fact that we are currently required to act against it, nor the fact that many of our siblings in Christ have been prompted by conscience to leave a church unwilling to affirm the lives and loves of LGBTQ+ people. Our consciences are treated as insignificant.

    There is a fundamental asymmetry here which has underpinned and undermined the entire LLF process. This has been explored before on this blog by Giles Goddard, in the first of a series of articles on the subject of conscience published here a couple of years ago but which remain as relevant as ever. Until that asymmetry of conscience is acknowledged and addressed, it is hard to see what progress can be made. When the conscience of some is elevated above the conscience of others, and implicitly with it the humanity, discipleship and vocation of some above that of others, that will never be a basis for good theology, nor for a just and faithful ordering of the life of the church.

  • A Response to “The Doctrine of Marriage and the Prayers of Love and Faith: Texts and Contexts: a Report of the Faith and Order Commission” (GS Misc 1430)

    Fr Thomas Sharp is a priest theologian based in the South East of England and is also Provincial Secretary of the Society of Catholic Priests

    This was the second report which briefed the House of Bishops before they made their decisions in October about Living in Love and Faith (LLF). This is another extraordinary document, with which I imagine many of the members of the Faith and Order Commission will not have been entirely content. At least, I hope they would not be.

    Its purpose is to determine ‘whether and how the Church’s public use of these prayers coheres with, realises new boundaries for, or departs from its established teaching on marriage’ (§1). It does not do this, as we shall see. But it does present a case, or perhaps more accurately talk around the assumption, that the Prayers of Love and Faith (PLF) (let alone equal marriage) would constitute a departure from the traditional doctrine of marriage. It does this around four general themes:

    1. public perception and theological significance of the PLF;
    2. ecclesial condoning of “life choices”;
    3. disagreement and liturgical diversity;
    4. the Church’s traditional teaching on marriage.

    1) Public Perception and Theological Significance

    The primary concern is not theological. It is about what we are seen to do. In §5 a distinction is established, between private prayers and public prayers, which is ‘not merely practical but theologically significant’. What is meant by this is that private prayers are less likely to be misinterpreted as condoning or blessing something which we actually think is bad and do not think should be blessed or condoned. Whereas, ‘In the setting of public worship, it is impossible to escape the reality that the use of the PLF is liable to be received, however unintentionally, as ecclesial endorsement of the relationship being blessed’ (§14, cf.§24). The primary problem is public perception, that people should misunderstand us and think we are blessing and approve of queer people, when in fact we are not and do not. This is not in fact a theological consideration, but a practical one of public perception.

    The argument gets stranger. A distinction is drawn between regular services and occasional ones. ‘Regular services,’ we are told, ‘carry a high presumption of normativity and significance.’ Yet ‘Bespoke services,… by their out-of-the-ordinary nature will also suggest a high level of normativity’ (§15). So it is hard to see what distinction is being drawn here.

    The essential point of the first section of the Report is that, whatever liturgical provision is offered for same-sex couples, it will be interpreted as a marriage by people at those services and by the Anglican Communion and wider society (§§26,28). Although ‘Many would maintain that audience perception does not in itself determine doctrine’ (§32), ‘The weight of audience reception, then, may tip the balance from pastoral care into apparent [doctrinal] contradiction’ (§30). And we are reminded twice that ‘lex orandi, lex credendi’ (§§29,34). In other words, liturgy should mean what we say it does, but it doesn’t, and in fact it does mean what people attending the liturgy or talking about it on ‘social media responses or press headlines’ think it does (§32). This argument is repeated in §§66-68 in the context of a discussion of the importance of published liturgy.

    There is much concern also in §27 about the clergy and lay leaders who will be affected by the ‘symbolic resonance and precedent of a prominent public LLF service’. It is not made clear what that means. It is a strangely evasive paragraph. Presumably a gay bishop and their partner using the prayers. But, of course, that would never happen, would it.

    2) Ecclesial Condoning of “Life Choices”

    After concerns about whether we might be seen to be blessing same-sex relationships, next is the question of whether the Church is condoning same-sex couples and their ‘life choice/s’. This overtly homophobic phrase of long standing is used at both §11 and §14.  We are told that there is agreement ‘that God’s blessing may be prayed for over persons and intentions without necessarily affirming all aspects of a relationship or life choice’ (§11). It is apparently entirely possible to bless a same-sex couple without blessing in any way any part of their life together. If this seems strange, we are reassured that, ‘The Church has long provided public prayers in circumstances of moral or pastoral ambiguity’ (§19). Here, you might be forgiven for thinking that a door was maybe being opened to permitting a liturgy which also allowed for moral ambiguity (however much it feels unreal to suggest that this aspect of my life and identity might be any more morally ambiguous than a straight person’s). But that door is rapidly slammed shut.

    The Report gives short paragraphs to deal with the supposed arguments of unidentified and unreferenced ‘supporters of the PLF’ in a way which suggests that they/we may not have been in the room at the time. These supporters ‘point to analogous liturgical acts which mark without enacting and bless without endorsing every moral dimension of the context’, like civic services and memorials (§33). If we bless at civic services and memorials without being seen to condone every aspect of what we are blessing, can we do the same here? Computer says no. ‘In these contexts, there are some fairly set cultural expectations within which the Church can navigate at such commemorative events’ (§33). Apparently, we are meant to understand that that could not possibly also be true for using the PLF, although that is not worked out for us. Indeed, so prone to confusion with marriage must the PLF be that clear differentiation from marriage would require ‘clarity of liturgical differentiation’ and ‘the willingness of Church leaders to undertake sustained theological communication’ (§35). Now, I enjoy a public lecture as much as the next theologian, but even I think that would be overkill before a church service.

    Apparently, just telling people that it isn’t a legal wedding, as clergy I know have done who have used PLF so far, would still leave everyone confused. I am unconvinced. LGBTQIA+ people know that the Church is ambivalent towards us, and if we don’t know anything we assume that the Church is actively hostile. But these arguments are rehearsed again in §§81-83 and §86, just to make sure you heard them if you happened to be reading quickly before a meeting. The “theological question” is then summed up in terms which appear entirely out of the blue, unconnected as they are to the argument in the rest of the Report:

    Theologically, the question posed by the public use of the PLF is not primarily about whether God’s grace is available to all. It is about how the Church responds lovingly to the hope of those who come before God and desire to show forth their praise in thanksgiving for what God has given them. (§88)

    Is it? It hasn’t felt like that’s the theological question in this theological briefing. There’s nothing about the hope of those who come before God to give thanks to God. Perhaps they left that bit out. And if we are morally ambiguous and not-to-be-condoned then it is hard in any case to see what there is to give thanks for to God in Church. Our evil ways? What a strange thing to say.

    3) Disagreement and Liturgical Diversity

    The Report deals in some depth with how liturgical diversity has been handled in the Church of England in the past. The liturgical text is not a ‘narrow prescription’ but rather ‘a framework capable of bearing diverse theological interpretations’ (§42). This is presented as maybe a good thing, though in that section on how the public received liturgy it seemed to be a bad thing. There is a delightfully idealistic statement that Canons A5 and B5 ‘protect the liturgy from becoming an instrument of theological partisanship and ensure its function as a shared act of worship grounded in common faith’ (§43). Perhaps the authors are wilfully unaware of the many parishes and network churches in the Church of England which never or almost never use authorised liturgy, even if technically they perhaps do something which could be defended as a Service of the Word. The Catholicisation of the liturgy in Common Worship has not been accepted throughout the Church of England, and A5 and B5 have not ensured liturgical unity. Why would we expect them to now? Comments commending the ‘structured plurality’ of ‘theological sensibilities and liturgical styles’ in the deployment of different Eucharistic prayers (§45) and reminding us that prayers are not ‘neutral containers into which new meanings may simply be poured’ (§47) do not accord with the reality of the breadth of theological positions on the eucharist which are now accommodated by Common Worship’s diversity of prayers (if Common Worship or the Book of Common Prayer are used at all in a parish or network church).

    There is then a rather confusing but impressive argument about the Ritual Controversy and the tension between ‘prescription, rubric, and enactment’ (§§50-57). It seems to be strongly implied that, unlike other times when there have been debates and movements for change, we are somehow walking into this without proper discernment. But if the gruelling process of LLF which has lasted for the entirety of my training and ordained ministry was not discernment, I don’t know what discernment would look like.

    Suddenly the Report raises the tone, almost comically, warning us:

    Episcopal guidance becomes critical: without clear episcopal teaching and supervision, the national coherence of liturgical practice – and the doctrinal witness it sustains – may be compromised. (§60)

    It is precisely in the act of translating these prayers into public worship that the theological and doctrinal stakes become most acute. (§85)

    I think that we are intended to hear the warning that the national coherence of liturgical practice may be compromised with the same concern as a warning that the hull of our submarine might be compromised. However, this is not how it lands. It is hard to get upset about the stable door needing shutting when the horse is galloping gaily away over the horizon.

    And the Report is quite direct that this is in fact the reality:

    The Church’s embrace of liturgical diversity has hitherto been sustained by theological agreement on the central matters of faith. Where disagreement has existed – on baptism, the Eucharist, or the nature of ordination – it has generally been held within a framework of authorised texts and common structures. (§63)

    This is an extraordinary admission, given the picture presented that the PLF risked tearing up a unified doctrinal-liturgical fabric. In fact, on minor and unimportant issues, not at all central in any way, like baptism, the Eucharist or Holy Orders, we already disagree. And that is apparently fine. However, we are reminded, lest again a door towards living with disagreement be opened to us, that:

    If liturgical practice is allowed to diverge from doctrinal principle, then the Church’s claim to be a confessing body – one that worships according to what it believes may be placed in jeopardy. (§64)

    Jeopardy. Well, as much as I would like everyone to be of one mind, the Report has already said that disagreement and divergence has happened over central issues, and the Church is still one body with one head, however many times we have disagreed, done different things, or even gone our separate ways. This just reads strangely, along with the warning that suddenly liturgical difference is something about which we should now be terrified into inaction, now that LGBTQIA+ people are involved. This aspect of the report reads like an attempt to create panic where no panic is necessary. Or, if it was necessary, it was probably necessary over the past 40 years, when our present liturgical divergence was taking root.

    (4) The Church’s Traditional Teaching on Marriage

    Do you remember that the purpose of this Report was meant to be to work out whether the PLF departed from the Church of England’s doctrine of marriage? You could be forgiven for having forgotten, having worked through all of this. The so-called “traditional doctrine of marriage” is first stated at §38, though this is only to establish how much this conflicts with the PLF which ‘suggests at least a degree of ecclesial affirmation of the relationship’ (§37). That the authors believe that the PLF constitute a departure from the “traditional doctrine of marriage” is not explored, only the implications of this finding.

    The unchallenged assumption that the unchanging doctrine of marriage in the Church of England is and has always been that it be between one man and one woman for life runs throughout the Report. At §22 and in footnote 9, a reference is made to GS Misc 1407, which was the Episcopal Reference Group’s paper on marriage and its accompanying compendium of sources. The compendium is interesting in that it gives a useful overview of the ways in which the Church of England’s doctrine of marriage and human sexuality has changed a lot, even as the Church has professed not to change our teaching or doctrine, only our pastoral practice. This change is now normal.

    We do not actually believe (as a Church) that marriage is between one man and one woman, or if we do we certainly have not believed that unchangingly or traditionally. The Lambeth Conferences of 1888 and 1988 came to exactly opposing conclusions about polygamy. We also do not actually believe (as a Church) that marriage is for life, given that remarriage of divorcees is now routine in the Church of England, and not reserved to the ‘exceptional circumstances’ envisaged by Marriage in the Church After Divorce (2003). It now seems only in really exceptional circumstances that marriage of heterosexual couples after divorce is ever denied.

    I certainly have never heard of public penance being done by heterosexual divorcees to make clear that the Church does not condone their remarriage before their service of thanksgiving. But the Report uses divorce as an example of another ‘morally ambiguous’ situation which the church does not bless (§19). It is made clear in the liturgy, apparently, that what is offered to divorcees is not a blessing. But I have never known that service to be referred to in any terms other than as a ‘wedding blessing’.

    Conclusion

    This Report is frustrating, and disturbing. It presents the PLF as something of a worst-case scenario, with the potential to detonate the hitherto integral liturgical unity of the Church of England. However, it is not balanced. It is not theologically consistent. And its arguments are at times obfuscatory and self-referential. It does not evaluate whether the PLF are consistent with the Church of England’s doctrine of marriage(s). But it does make it appear as fait accompli that the PLF are inconsistent in a way that suggests that the House of Bishops has no freedom to exercise their episcopal prerogative to authorise them. As such, this was a confusing and at times needlessly offensive Report to read.

  • Why Progressive Christians Must Reclaim the Case for Church – Or Face the Consequences

    by Simon Cross, a minister in the United Reformed Church, a writer, and the chair of the Progressive Christianity Network

    [reprinted with permission from http://simonjcross.substack.com/]

    Progressive Christianity has done much to reframe theology – challenging exclusion, reimagining scripture, and putting justice issues at the centre of our worship. But in the enthusiasm to move away from conservatism, we’ve often neglected to reconstruct a compelling case for why church still matters.

    The consequences are striking. Churches that champion progressive theology are shrinking, not because their message lacks depth, but because their communal purpose is unclear. This has various knock-on effects: visible Christianity becomes limited to its more conservative expressions, new leaders are not nurtured, people are cut adrift from supportive communities.

    For centuries now, we’ve critiqued doctrine, questioned hierarchy, and sought to dismantle harmful traditions. But we’ve not always articulated what church is for. Why gather? Why commit? Why return week after week to a community that is imperfect, slow-moving, and sometimes exhausting?

    The hard truth is that if we don’t make the case for church, others will. And often, they’ll make it in ways that reinforce conformity, control, or nostalgia. If we, as progressive Christians, believe in a gospel of liberation, then we must also believe in the power of, and need for communities which embody that liberation – not just in theory, but in practice.

    Church as a School of Compassion

    Church, through a progressive lens, is not just a place to hear sermons, sing hymns or mumble prayers. It’s a dynamic, open space where we learn, together, to be compassionate. Not in abstract terms, but in the messy, embodied reality of shared life. It’s a place where we learn to sit with grief that isn’t ours. We learn to celebrate joy that doesn’t benefit us. We learn what it means to forgive, and to listen.

    This vision of church is profoundly counter-cultural. While contemporary culture prizes individualism and efficiency, wealth and success, church offers a counter-formative rhythm. It slows us down. It asks us to notice. It invites us into relationships that aren’t transactional – or at least aren’t as transactional. Over time, it shapes us into people who can look beyond ourselves.

    Church as a Place of Ritual

    Progressive Christians often shy away from ritual, fearing it will become empty or oppressive. But in my own life, and my own experience of ministry, I have come to recognise that rituals are not the enemy. They are, in some ways, the scaffolding of meaning. (Don’t believe me? Read Ritual by Dimitris Xygalatas).

    In church, we enact rituals of restoration and renewal: communion being the most obvious one. Moments when we stop – recentre, renew. We also enact rituals of resistance – the most notable of which is baptism. In my tradition these two rituals are called ‘sacraments’ – for good reason.

    These rituals remind us who we are and who we’re becoming. They connect us to generations before us and to movements beyond us. They give shape to our longings and language to our hope.

    Church as a Community of Resistance

    Sometimes when I go into a church I find, in effect, a living history museum. A place where a group find comfort. But if church is only a place of comfort, it will not survive.

    At its best, church becomes a community of resistance. A place where we can come together, partly for comfort perhaps, but also to find a way to fight against injustice, against despair, against isolation. The earliest Christians gathered for this reason – they shared resources, they dismantled hierarchies, they cared for each other.

    Progressive churches have the theological tools to be communities of resistance. We speak of inclusion, of equity, of ecological care. But we must also embody these values in our structures, our budgets, our liturgies, and our relationships. Resistance is not just what we preach – it’s how we live together.

    Making the Case

    So how do we make the case for church?

    Perhaps we start by telling the truth, to ourselves and to one another: church is hard. It’s slow. It’s full of people who disappoint us. But it’s also one of the few places where we commit to one another not because we agree with each other (we don’t), but because we belong.

    Then maybe we tell stories – stories of meals shared, of burdens carried, of prayers whispered in hospital rooms. We name the ways that church has saved us by being present to us.

    We invite people not to consume church, but to co-create it. To bring their gifts, their questions, their wounds. To help shape a community that reflects the gospel we believe in.

    And we remind ourselves that church is not a building or a brand. It’s a practice. A discipline. A way of being in the world that says: we are not alone, and we are not powerless.

    Mostly, though, we simply need to understand the case for church in ourselves – we need to internalise it. We need to recognise that ‘this’ is why its worth being part of.

    A Progressive Future

    If progressive Christianity is to thrive, it must reclaim church. It must cultivate it, and tend to it. We must actively make the case for gathering together, and we must ensure our spaces are such that genuine discipleship can happen in them. We can’t really afford to just keep going through the motions.

    Church can be a place where justice is not just preached, but practised. Where compassion is not just felt, but formed. Where resistance is not just imagined, but enacted. We all know it – just as we know it can be the opposite. We need to make the case for church.

  • Slouching Towards Synod*

    by Helen King, member of General Synod, editor

    Usually things start to settle down in the week before General Synod meets. The agenda is out, Questions are submitted and the written answers awaited, and people read through the various papers and start to think about whether they have something they’d like to contribute to the debates.

    But, in this particularly troubled Synod, where safeguarding, Living in Love and Faith, and governance are all coming together and overlapping in a disturbing way, nothing feels settled at all. That wasn’t helped this morning by an unexpected letter ‘To all General Synod Members’, from the one remaining LLF Lead Bishop. There is still no sign of anyone having been identified to take over Bishop Helen-Ann Hartley’s role as the ‘inclusive’ Lead Bishop; or perhaps nobody so identified has been willing to take this on.

    In the letter, Bishop Martyn Snow assures us that the list of ‘commitments’ being brought by him to Synod are not really the commitments. They are ‘intended as an illustration of the sort of commitments that might form the basis of an agreement’.

    Yes, the underlining/bold face combination is in the letter.

    We are further asked not to ‘pick apart’ the wording of the commitments, or to discuss whether we agree with the details. It’s not clear what we are allowed to do.

    Is that it? Or are any more documents likely to land between now and Friday?

    In these circumstances, rather than offer any new reflections, Via Media News is instead offering you a reminder of some of the pieces published already here, and which speak into aspects if our current situation. No.10 of the commitments in GS2346 – commitments which are not really commitments – concerns communion: the search for the ‘highest possible degree’ of communion and the idea of ‘degrees of unity’. Is this about impaired communion? Ah, but we are not supposed to ‘pick apart’ the wording.

    So, let’s think about sacraments, and impaired sacraments. On Via Media, back in 2019, we featured a piece on our common baptism, from Bishop David Gillett, picking up cases where a minister had refused to baptise the child of a same-sex couple: ‘Does the Bible really say … that baptism should be withheld from some people?’ David looked at the sorts of “Oh my goodness how do we do this??” practical questions, like how to fill in the register when there are two mothers, or two fathers, and reminding us of Canon B22: No minister shall refuse or, save for the purpose of preparing or instructing the parents or guardians or godparents, delay to baptise any infant within his cure that is brought to the church to be baptized.

    He wrote “Meanwhile we are in the ironic situation where baptism, the foundation sacrament within the Church, is open to all whereas lawfully married same sex couples are barred from both a church marriage and the possibility of ordination.”

    Last year, Fr Thomas Sharp wrote about breaking, or remaining in, communion, when communion “flows from our baptism”. “To declare then that communion is broken is, simply, to make a fundamental statement too about baptism, that the sacrament, too, has in some way been broken.” He concluded, “I am tempted, when I disagree with them and any number of my fellow members of the Church, to declare us ‘out of communion’, to insult and write them off. But then the Spirit’s voice accuses me: ‘How dare you forsake your baptism?’”

    This raises questions around the stated objectives of the Church of England Evangelical Council, as stated in their document ‘Securing evangelical witness’. In the non-geographic dioceses envisaged here, people will be “able to express the view that others in the C of E are preaching a different gospel and are false teachers”; not that we disagree, but that one group of us are false teachers and the others aren’t. One baptism? Apparently not. Sharing communion? It doesn’t sound like it.

    Evidence for that comes from another 2019 piece published here, on ‘impaired communion’, where Dr David Ison challenged the January 2019 Letter from Concerned Anglicans in the Oxford Diocese, which took issue with the Oxford Bishops because they were insisting that all could be baptised and could receive communion: the Concerned wrote ‘in supporting the formulation first produced by the Bishops of Lichfield, [your Ad Clerum] Letter makes specific reference to nobody being excluded or discouraged from receiving the sacraments of baptism or the Lord’s Supper” and argued that what they called ‘such indiscriminate participation’ was actually unbiblical because, the Concerned Anglicans observed, ‘the Apostle Paul’s teaching in 1 Corinthians 11: 27-29 clearly discourages participation in the Lord’s Supper for those who have not examined themselves.’

    So, for some within the wider, and diverse, evangelical constituency, some cannot be baptised, while some cannot accept the invitation to the Lord’s Table if the person presiding there has stated that they will bless people in committed same-sex relationships. This of course already happens – although, I think, less than it did – if the person presiding is female. David responded to all this was that “It’s ironic, and worse, that Paul’s confronting of corporate division and contempt is used by one part of Christ’s body as a stick with which to beat and exclude another part of Christ’s body – when Paul is telling his hearers to take a good look at themselves, not others.” Examining oneself seems rather different from labelling others as automatically excluded.

    And that brings us back to the big question: when Christians in the same Church refuse to take communion from, or with, other Christians in that Church: are they still in the same Church, or is that schism?

     

    *The title of this blog post is of course a reference to Yeats’ poem, The Second Coming. Make of that what you will.

  • Agree or Disagree: I’m Still in Communion with my Bishop

    Fr Thomas Sharp is Succentor at Southwark Cathedral, and Parish Priest at St Hugh’s Bermondsey. He is Coordinator of the Young Anglican Theology Project, a Third Order Franciscan, and a member of the Provincial Council of the Society of Catholic Priests.

    When I was at University, one of our lecturers tried to impress on us just how chaotic and disputatious was the early Church. He had us gather in a seminar room, and argue about anything we could think of, so long as it generated plenty of theological insults. It was great fun, if rather a culture shock from the polite University discourse in which we were trained.

    My favourite ‘Christian insult’ was ‘How dare you forsake your Baptism?’ Screamed at the top of one’s lungs. The charge is weighty, vital.  And it helps that ‘forsake’ and ‘baptism’ are immensely satisfying words to spit at a colleague in the classroom.

    The patristic tendency of Christians to levy the charge that opponents have forsaken their baptism has given way in recent years to the charge that they have forsaken communion. Breaking or impairing communion is the ecclesiological offence-du-jour on a range of issues. It remains the great obstacle of ecumenism.

    But the two charges amount to the same thing. Communion flows from our baptism. We are in communion with one another by virtue of the fact that we are baptised into one body. To declare then that communion is broken is, simply, to make a fundamental statement too about baptism, that the sacrament, too, has in some way been broken.

    I have not always agreed with my bishops. Very occasionally, I have thought it might be easier if I could perhaps put myself under a different bishop more closely aligned with my views.

    Feelings of alienation, frustration, and misunderstanding within the Church are not, however, a consequence of broken communion, or a cause of it. They are fundamentally a consequence of our common fallenness – and so point to the grace by which they and we must all be saved.

    The doctrine of salvation by faith and not works renders communion an objective reality: it gives us confidence. In the darkest days of the Reformation, when it seemed that the Church really thought communion was simply about assenting to the decrees of councils and authorities, their blasphemy was to render salvation subjective. They made it seem that salvation rested on nothing firmer than whatever the latest power bloc or prelate thought I should be burned over should I disagree. Under such rule, communion depends on whatever is going on in head of the one who sits in judgment. And hell’s maw yawns open – apparently, not for forsaking God, but for standing up to an earthly ruler, whose mind might change tomorrow. What sinking sand on which to build one’s faith.

    This is a caricature of pre-Reformation thought, of course, but salvation by grace is our safeguard against that caricature becoming real. It defends us against the temptation to put our faith not in God but in earthly councils and secular alliances. Salvation by works says that there’s something you can do to be in with the right crowd or in the right place to earn the mercy of God. But salvation by faith  proclaims healthily and firmly our sinfulness, our inability to save ourselves. It plants our trust firmly on the ground of God’s grace.

    No human being can be righteous enough to earn salvation: it is given through the grace of faith. No human can earn what God gives them – either through ‘right-thinking’ or ‘lifestyle’ -for God gives it freely, as unmerited gift. No human can be good and wholesome enough to merit the blood of Christ: it is medicine shed for the sick.

    My point is this: no Christian minister, no bishop or priest can be stainless enough to earn the pastoral ministry. It is given through the grace of faith. No bishop, no pastor, can teach infallibly (at least, I hold this as an Anglican): each is fallen and saved by grace. No communion with a bishop is so subjective as to depend on what they think about any number of things, or even what they teach or do. If they claim the blood of Christ and confess the Triune God, if they call upon God in their distress for the mercy revealed on the cross, then they are Christians and we are in communion. I do not choose them: Christ died for them.

    When the Bishop of London declared in her speech to General Synod that all members of the Church would be welcome at her table, one might be tempted to see it as a statement of flagrant liberalism, theologically lax if well-intentioned. But I took it as a clear and conservative planting of episcopal feet on a firm foundation: the communion of the baptised which is God’s graceful gift to the Body of Christ.

    My own diocesan Bishop urges us ‘to continue to speak well of each other,’ and again some might be tempted to dismiss this as a well-meaning aspiration. But to speak well of one another, even when we disagree, is to resolve defiantly and determinedly (and against the odds) not to impugn the blood of Christ by which we and they (whoever ‘they’ may be for us) have been saved. By baptism we have been incorporated into one body. If we insult or injure one another, it is that one body – the body of Christ – which we are injuring.

    I did not choose my fellow Christians, those who are called with me to the supper of the Lamb.

    I have not chosen my Bishops, and they have not chosen me. We have been gifted to one another by divine providence and God’s mercy.

    I did not choose the body of which they and I are a part, and I have not built it – for it is God who builds it and elects members to it and feeds it.

    I am tempted, when I disagree with them and any number of my fellow members of the Church, to declare us ‘out of communion’, to insult and write them off.

    But then the Spirit’s voice accuses me: ‘How dare you forsake your baptism?’