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Tag: ecclesiology

  • Alternative Ordinations and the Fracturing of the Church

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

    I was brought up in rural north of Ireland, in the Church of Ireland. The Anglicanism that formed me was shaped much more by conservative evangelicalism than by Liberalism or Catholicism. My faith was nurtured not only by Anglicans but by Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians and other Christians whose commitment to Christ was sincere and transformative. I have known the gifts of charismatic renewal, evangelical preaching and faithful discipleship across denominational boundaries.

    Yet my own spiritual home ultimately became the inclusive Catholic tradition of the Church of England. In making that journey, I have been deeply influenced not only by Anglican Catholicism but also by the wider Catholic tradition and by Orthodoxy. I have been drawn to their profound sense of stillness before the mystery of the God in Jesus Christ, their sacramental vision of creation, and their conviction that the material world, the human body and human relationships are places where God’s presence is revealed. At their best, these traditions hold before us a deeply positive vision of human dignity, grounded in the mystery of the Incarnation itself.

    That theological vision has shaped my ministry. It has taught me to seek Christ in other people, to work for reconciliation between divided Christians, and to recognise the dignity of those of other faiths and of none. In the diverse communities of Kilburn and West Hampstead, where people of many cultures, faiths and backgrounds live alongside one another, this is not simply a theological conviction but a practical necessity. Seeing the image of God in one another, and seeking the common good together, lies at the heart of how I understand Jesus in his portrayal in the Gospels and how I am called to follow.

    I found within the inclusive Catholic tradition of the Church of England a vision that was sacramental, rooted in tradition, intellectually serious, socially engaged and capacious enough to hold profound difference. That breadth has always seemed to me one of Anglicanism’s greatest gifts.

    Perhaps that is why a recent article by Andrew Atherstone, examining a further seven Church of England candidates ordained by bishops of the Reformed Evangelical Anglican Church of South Africa, troubles me deeply [1]. Whatever one’s views on Living in Love and Faith, this is now very clearly no longer simply a debate about sexuality. It is a debate about the nature of the Church itself. The Church of England has always contained disagreement. Catholics, evangelicals and liberals have often disagreed vigorously, sometimes painfully. Yet we remained committed to a common life. We worshipped together, discerned together and ordained together because we recognised that the Church belonged not to any one party or tradition, but to Christ. What Atherstone describes is not an isolated event. Alternative discernment processes, alternative training pathways and alternative ordinations are gradually creating parallel structures of authority. A Church that ceases to trust its own common life inevitably begins to fragment into competing constituencies, each accountable primarily to itself.

    As someone who has spent much of the last few years campaigning for greater independence and accountability in safeguarding, I understand why institutions can lose trust. Institutions sometimes fail. But the answer to institutional failure cannot simply be the creation of alternative institutions whenever we dislike the direction in which the wider body is moving. That path leads not to renewal but to separation.

    My ministry today is exercised in Kilburn, one of the most diverse communities in the country. Here questions of poverty, housing, mental health, migration, loneliness and community cohesion are not abstract policy concerns but daily realities. Our neighbours are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, people of other faiths and people of none. They come from every continent and speak dozens of languages. In such a place, Jesus’ commandment takes on a particular urgency: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and you shall love your neighbour as yourself” [2]. The neighbour is not the person who agrees with us. The neighbour is the person God has placed beside us. That is true within the Church as much as it is beyond it.

    When I look at the challenges facing our communities, I find it difficult to believe that the pursuit of theological purity is the primary calling of the Church. The Gospel repeatedly directs our attention towards reconciliation, justice, mercy and the building of communities in which people can flourish together. The New Testament consistently presents unity not as an optional extra but as a gift and calling. Writing to a divided Church in Corinth, St Paul insists that “the body does not consist of one member but of many” and that “the eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you.” [3]. Diversity is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be embraced within the life of Christ. That biblical image poses a challenge to every party in the Church. If the eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you”, neither can evangelicals say it to Catholics, nor Catholics to liberals, nor liberals to evangelicals.

    There is a further irony here. The alternative ordinations described by Atherstone are themselves a response to Living in Love and Faith and, more specifically, to the Church’s willingness to commend prayers for same-sex couples who have entered civil marriages. Yet at precisely the moment when some conservatives are constructing alternative systems of discernment, training, ordination and oversight, the Convocations of Canterbury and York, the historic assemblies representing the clergy of the Church of England, are being asked to approve revised Professional Guidelines that remain heavily focused on the conduct of individual clergy, including questions of relationships, marriage and sexual behaviour.?

    Mine is not an argument about discipline. It is an argument about consistency. One side of the present debate is concerned with the regulation of personal conduct. The other concerns the creation of parallel ecclesial structures. One addresses the lives of individual clergy. The other concerns the visible ordering of the Church itself. The development of alternative structures is neither private nor unseen. It is deliberate, organised and public. It is announced in conferences, websites, public statements and ordination services. Whatever one’s views on Living in Love and Faith, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that these developments raise profound questions about the Church’s common life and common order.

    The question becomes even more pressing in the light of the revised Professional Guidelines currently before Convocation. The Guidelines remind clergy that they serve under the authority of the bishop and commit themselves through the Oath of Canonical Obedience. They state that clergy should “respect and abide by the regulations or requests of the bishop of the diocese in which they serve” and insist that “unless and until a law is changed, the existing law must be kept.” The Guidelines are also intended to assist in determining whether conduct meets the standards required of a clerk in holy orders [4]. As a gay priest, it is difficult not to notice the contrast. Considerable energy is devoted to regulating the intimate lives and relationships of clergy, while far less attention appears to be given to the public construction of alternative structures of discernment, ordination and oversight.

    Historically, Anglicanism has sought to hold together right belief, right conduct and right order. Yet contemporary debates often seem to focus overwhelmingly on the first two while paying remarkably little attention to the third. As a result, many clergy will inevitably ask whether the Church’s concerns are being applied consistently. If we devote enormous energy to questions of personal conduct, should we not also devote equal attention to developments that reshape the structures through which we discern vocation, exercise ministry and express communion? The revised Guidelines remind clergy that they are called to promote peace and reconciliation in the Church and in the world and to strive for the visible unity of Christ’s Church [5]. That aspiration seems difficult to reconcile with the emergence of structures whose purpose is increasingly to create a church within a church.

    Of course there are moments when conscience demands resistance. There are times when the Church must reform. Yet Anglicanism at its best has always sought to hold together what others would separate. It has understood that living faithfully with disagreement is often harder, and more Christian, than walking away.

    The question before us, then, is larger than Living in Love and Faith. Can the Church of England remain a Church broad enough to contain genuine theological difference, or are we becoming a federation of tribes, each constructing its own structures whenever disagreement becomes uncomfortable? I still believe the Anglican instinct is the right one. We need one another because none of us alone possesses the whole truth. The tragedy of our present moment is not that we disagree. Anglicans have always disagreed. The tragedy is that we increasingly seem to doubt that disagreement can be held within a common life.

    In the seventeenth chapter of St John’s Gospel, on the night before his death, Jesus prays for his disciples “that they may all be one” [6] It is a prayer not for uniformity but for communion; not for agreement in every matter but for a unity rooted in the love of God. That prayer remains unfinished. It is a calling entrusted to every generation of Christians. Once we cease to believe that Christ can hold together people with whom we profoundly disagree, far more than a debate about sexuality is at stake. We risk losing confidence in the very prayer of Jesus himself. More profoundly still, we risk losing confidence in the God whose creative love is capable of holding together difference itself, the God who creates, sustains and reconciles all things.

    Notes

    1. Andrew Atherstone, “More Alternative Anglican Ordinations”, Law & Religion UK, 15 June 2026.
    2. Mark 12.30–31.
    3. 1 Corinthians 12.14, 21.
    4. Draft Professional Guidelines for the Clergy, Convocation of Canterbury FS(26)4, June 2026, especially sections 1–3 on clergy discipline, canonical obedience, episcopal authority and the obligation to observe existing law. Convocation is the historic representative assembly of the clergy of the provinces of Canterbury and York and is responsible for agreeing the Professional Guidelines for Clergy.
    5. Draft Professional Guidelines for the Clergy, paragraph 3.5: clergy are called to “promote peace and reconciliation in the church and in the world” and to strive for “the visible unity of Christ’s Church”.
    6. John 17.21.

  • 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.]

  • Beyond Threats: Changing the Narrative after Living in Love and Faith

    by Charlie Bell, Fellow in Public Theology and Medicine at Girton College, Cambridge, Associate Vicar of St John the Divine, Kennington, in the Diocese of Southwark, and member of the LLF Vocations and Ministry Working Group

    When I was at my first Diocesan Synod, many years ago, just after the House of Bishops had issued their Valentine’s Day message that set in stone the current mess in relation to clergy being forbidden to marry their same-sex or gender partners, a cleric turned to me and said words that have stuck with me ever since: ‘you need to have a cooler head and a warmer heart’. These words have returned to me on a number of occasions during the Living in Love and Faith (LLF) fiasco, echoed by various ‘supportive’ or less supportive bishops or others involved in the process – often people who could return to their own husbands or wives at the end of the day, whilst asking people like me to ‘be patient’.

    They appeared in the back of my mind again last week when witnessing the total corporate failure of the House of Bishops to even pay lip service to their promise to ‘lament and repent of the failure of the Church to be welcoming to LGBTQI+ people and the harm that LGBTQI+ people have experienced and continue to experience in the life of the Church’. It was hard – it is hard – to see this as anything other than a total betrayal. Like many others, I felt disappointment, I felt grief. I also felt anger, frustration and the deep impotence of watching my life being decided upon by others. I felt fury at the bully-boy tactics of the Alliance. I felt – frankly – disgusted with the apparent refusal to take all of this on, by those who have claimed to support us throughout. And I was tempted to despair.

    It is hard to know where to start with the inadequacy of what happened, and I’ve taken a bit of time before penning this article to hear a few different perspectives. A statement was put out in the name of the House of Bishops – rushed, presumably, in light of yet another anticipated leak in this depressing process – which failed even to mention LGBTQIA people (I wonder whether this was even seen, let alone signed off, by the House?). In this statement, there was a clear narrative – that LGBTQIA people were, once again, to be the acceptable sacrifice in the name of some vague notion of church ‘unity-through-silence-and-stasis’ (a ‘unity’ which was shown to be a mirage just a few hours later, as GAFCON launched their most recent preposterous salvo). Here was the triumph of pragmatism and politics over people – process over progress – and all in the face of clear decisions of the General Synod (decisions which have been totally ignored throughout the process).

    The bishops didn’t help themselves in the ensuing days, not least through the double-speak we have sadly become so used to hearing. We have seen this endlessly in Synod motions – where ‘consider’ or ‘potential’ have become weasel words to allow something to be passed and then thrown on to the ‘too difficult’ pile at will. In radio performances, the bishops provided disingenuous accounts, full of handwringing and ‘well actually’ commentary which once again failed to take the seriousness of the failure into account, and which might make LGBTQIA people feel just a little gaslighted. The reality of putting something through a two-thirds majority process – that it will fail, given the unrepresentative nature of the General Synod – has never quite been named, and similarly, there is no commitment to actually beginning Synodal processes on clergy marriage.

    Abysmal ‘pastoral letters’ were penned, including one surprisingly weak example which would fail the ‘pastoral exercise’ at any Bishop’s Advisory Panel for potential ordinands. And to date, there has been – once again – a general recourse to silence amongst the House, including amongst the ‘inclusive’ bishops. Silence – just like inaction – is not value-neutral. For our chief pastors, it appears the pastoral urge is worryingly absent. Or, perhaps, fear really has taken over the institution.

    What has become clear from several conversations that I have had – and sight of the legal advice and theological advice – is that the narrative that the legal advice changed is absolute nonsense. It is certainly true that the legal advice suggested that the bishops might be at risk of legal challenge, but we’ve known this all along, not least from February 2024’s GS 2346 (the optimistically-named Living in Love, Faith, and Reconciliation). Part of the role of being a leader is to shoulder that kind of risk. The theological advice on the PLF also made clear that there remain contested areas here, much as there are over clergy entering marriages to people of the same sex or gender. But nothing has substantively changed. ‘We need more theology’ was not, in the end, the deciding factor, and nor was the fabled ‘legal advice’.

    Whilst we’re on that point, might we be a little clearer with language? We have heard time after time that one of the questions to be addressed is whether clergy can enter such marriages, and the need for separate structures if that is to be allowed, but that is not the actual question here. There are already clergy in such marriages – I’m one of them. We walk amongst you. We celebrate the sacraments and preach the word of God freely. I can – and often do – cover parishes all over the diocese, and more widely. But what I can’t do is be appointed to a new post – and those waiting for ordination cannot be ordained. The whole situation is ridiculous – it’s OK for me to share cure of souls in my parish and preside in another but not share cure of souls there and preside in mine. It is hard to follow an argument that suggests that I can continue to be made use of, whilst to permit others would be to break canon law and would require some grand structural change.

    The demands for structural change, of course, have been one of the key issues underlying this whole LLF process – in fact, LLF has become less about LGTBQIA people and more about keeping the purveyors of threats within the Church of England. A narrative has developed, bought – it appears – hook, line, and sinker by far too many within the House of Bishops, that ‘if you do X, we need Y’. If you have standalone services (whatever that means), we need special bishops. If you have clergy marriage, we need our own province. And so on. Few have been willing to stand up to this and say, ‘no, you don’t’ – instead, the game has been played according to those rules, and so here we are. The bishops were unwilling to ‘do violence to the ecclesiology’ of the Church of England, so LGBTQIA people can, essentially, get stuffed. It’s understandable from a purely pragmatic point of view, but it is utterly theologically bankrupt.

    I have some sympathy for the refusal to give into this kind of bullying, and it has been fascinating to see the rather muted response of the small but synodically overrepresented and extremely wealthy threat-makers and money-withdrawers when they realised their grand plan to create a purity cult, a church-within-a-church, has failed. Yet beyond the apparent unwillingness to challenge the Alliance narrative, bishops have also spoken about feeling cornered – managed to within an inch of their lives – by being presented with faits accomplis at recent meetings, with no room left for manoeuvre. It’s this, or it’s that, they were told. So, whether or not it was their intention, looking in from the outside, it certainly looks like they have run scared of the Alliance, given into threats, and left us out in the cold. In doing so, all the hope of February 2023 has fallen away, motions and the associated clear will of General Synod have been discarded, and we have a few measly prayers which many of us were doing already. No bespoke services. No change to the absurd rules on clergy marriage. Nothing. Nada. Nil.

    As I said at the start, I am as angry and as dejected as the next person. But I am also not willing to accept defeat here. So, whilst it is easy to get caught up in the frustration and the fury, I want to think instead of where we go from here.

    It is clearly the case that the bishops decided it was not worth pressing ahead with standalone services, but why? Is this the result of threats of legal action? Bishops need to be clear in their own minds why they voted the way they did, and just as clear as to how they will stop this mess happening again. How are they going to enable all the things that they have promised through Synod motions – some little more than crumbs under the table? How are they going to focus once again on radical inclusion and not on threat management?

    One of the key things to which the House of Bishops – and particularly those bishops supportive of LGBTQIA inclusion – need to commit is doing this better and growing some courage. It is time for them to take back a level of agency and own the decisions and the decision-making processes they are engaging in. This means, too, refusing to accept narratives peddled on the back of threats. There is no inevitability to the Alliance’s wish-list, and this needs to be clearly and unmistakably stated by our bishops. The alternative – that the House accepts that no change will happen unless structural provision is made, and that the House will not provide this – is that LGBTQIA people are the acceptable sacrifice. We – LGBTQIA people – are asking you: which is it?

    Indeed, in a letter to supporters this week, the CEEC has made clear that they want to see even the current commended prayers removed from use, and ‘if that is not possible’ to ‘advocate for a structural rearrangement which secures orthodoxy [sic’] going forward’. Threats will continue until they are taken on.

    Secondly, there needs to be a sense of urgency in the work and witness of the House of Bishops. LGBTQIA people are sick and tired of being trampled over or told to wait. David Monteith expressed this very powerfully last week, and his experience chimes with many of us. A failure to see why this is not only important but urgent is hurting the witness of the episcopal leadership of the Church of England – indeed, a failure to hear even a public word from inclusive bishops in the aftermath of this week’s car crash is fairly damning in and of itself. Of course, it is likely that the 44 bishops who spoke out a while back are now on a ‘do not appoint’ list provided by the Alliance to anti-LGBTQIA Crown Nominations Commission members considering diocesan appointments, but since when have threats been the way we go about our business? How about naming them instead, and calling the bluff of those who make them?

    Thirdly, they – and we – need to commit to what can be done right now, and get on with doing it. The arguments over what does and doesn’t require B2 are somewhat complicated (and I will engage with them in a later post), but it is quite obviously the case that something can be offered now (of which the PLF are a mere part and not the whole), and we ought to be getting on with it – and our bishops ought not only to be giving us quiet, covert cover, but to be public in their support. Similarly, now we have a route to dealing with the nonsense over clergy marriage, let’s do it – rather than kick the can down the road further.

    Some people have expressed dissatisfaction that parishes are not being encouraged to withhold parish share. Nobody is stopping you: if you are an incumbent with the support of your PCC and you wish to do so, then maybe now is indeed the time to do so – and to say so. Make it clear to your bishops that the threats of the Alliance are not the only show in town. Challenge decision making that prioritises those who threaten over those who are LGBTQIA. Support your bishops when they need it, and oppose them when they sell us down the river. Get involved in the campaigns that are out there, and if you feel they don’t go far enough, go further.

    And, of course, we are moving into an important year, where General Synod will once again be elected. The reality is that we need money for this campaign, because the purveyors of threats have loads of it. But we also need people. We need deanery synods that truly represent the people of the Church of England. Deanery synods elect General Synod. I will admit that I really hate General Synod and the way that Synod’s clear will has been ignored. But if we are to make change, we have to win – and win big – in these next elections. It matters for every part of our corporate life, like it or hate it – the election of bishops, the possibility of bringing in Equal Marriage, the way our money is spent, you name it.

    The past two and a half years, since the first LLF motion was passed, have been characterised by a failure of courage, imagination, integrity, theology: and of leadership. We have retreated into being a church of anxiety and fear, shaped by threats and bullying tactics. We have become risk-averse, frustrated, and angry. There has been an immeasurable damage to trust in the institution and in the leadership. We have lost our way.

    But it does not need to be like this, and with God’s grace it won’t be. We – all of us – need to change the narrative, reorient the church’s perspective, and get back to the business of living in love, faith, and hope. We can turn this around. And there is no time like the present to let the Holy Spirit blow afresh, and to turn again to the Lord, and live.

    Weeping may endure for a night: but joy cometh in the morning.

  • The Global South Fellowship of Anglicans – Power and Numbers?

    Canon Dr Phil Groves is a parish priest and convenes the Anglican Peace and Justice Network. His PhD is on Anglican Missional Ecclesiology and he was the Facilitator for the Listening Process in the Anglican Communion and Director of Continuing Indaba. He is Canon of Mpwapwa Cathedral in Tanzania and fluent in Kiswahili. 

    Following the Lambeth Conference, bishops are returning to their dioceses with renewed energy, and an expanded vision as they realise the wonder of being part of a global communion of churches. While the external narrative might be about splits and an obsession with sex, they will tell a different story, barely recognising the conference they attended for the one reported on.

    At Canterbury, the conversations were around being followers of Jesus in a world in crisis. Seminars and private conversations often focused on a world defined by authoritarian and corrupt governments, and climate disaster. The pressures are more acute among the poor, and as our poor face hunger, the poor in the socio-economic global south are facing starvation. Our prophets of justice face ridicule: theirs face death.

    The ‘Lambeth Calls’ focused minds on potential action: especially for indigenous peoples, those still oppressed by the inheritance of slavery, young people facing an uncertain future, those living under threat of persecution for their faith and for standing for oppressed peoples. For a wonderful seminar presentation on justice from an African contributor – please click here.

    However, one group called the ‘Global South Fellowship of Anglicans’ (GSFA), has been driving a divisive message that has distorted the reality of the conference. They claim to speak for those who have historically been marginalised and silenced through the dominance of power in the socio-economic global north. They claim to speak for 75% of Anglicans – an overwhelming majority. These claims are impressive and make them very significant, especially to progressives who are aware of the dangers of racism and the value of democracy.

    But are these claims true? In order to fact check these claims we can look at the GSFA website, which lists 25 Provinces as belonging to, or associated with, the Fellowship. Belonging requires fully signing up to a constitution that relinquishes provincial autonomy in favour of a global ecclesial body. The site no longer says how many are ‘members’ and how many are ‘affiliates’.

    The constitution is clear that, despite its name, the GSFA no longer claims to be defined by ‘geography’: rather, it is increasingly defined by ‘orthodoxy’.[1]

    The Diocese of Sydney and the Anglican Church of North America (ACNA) are both listed among the 25 members and affiliates, showing that despite its name it is not exclusively a voice for the socio-economic global south. Also, all members of the secretariat are from the Diocese of Singapore and Singapore is classified as being in the socio-economic global north.

    This means that, rather than being a voice for the complex diversity of Anglicanism in the socio-economic global south, GSFA is claiming to be the voice of ‘orthodoxy’: an orthodoxy defined by a common view over a single key issue. This is reflected in almost every statement issued by the block for the last twenty years. The focus of these statements is on condemning the growing number of Anglican diocese and provinces where LGBTI+ people are included and their relationships celebrated, rather than issues that actually affect people in the socio-economic global south.

    The first thing to note is that only 22 of the members/affiliates are Anglican Communion provinces. In addition to Sydney Diocese (not a province), the ACNA and the Anglican Church in Brazil are breakaway churches. In the Anglican Communion, 31 provinces have all their dioceses in the socio-economic global south with another 4 (Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia, Jerusalem and the Middle East, South East Asia, and The Episcopal Church) having dioceses in both global south and global north. For example, TEC’s biggest diocese by numbers is Haiti, the biggest francophone diocese in the Anglican Communion. This means that GSFA claims to speak for 22 of the 35 Anglican Communion provinces with dioceses in the socio-economic global south, not all provinces with dioceses in the global south.

    During the conference, the GSFA-EFAC Lambeth Resource group[2] distributed a letter to bishops asking for them to sign a document to reaffirm Lambeth I.10 and to indicate the number of Anglicans worshipping in their dioceses.

    The voting was monitored by a UK-based accountant and General Synod member, Debbie Buggs. She ‘checked all email reaffirmations to ensure the information was accurately transferred from email to the official record, and that each affirmation recorded has been validated by a relevant Bishop’s Lambeth Conference Pass’. It is not made clear if she ensured that bishops were not supervised as they voted – that is, that they voted without pressure being applied. It is not clear if she validated the numbers of Anglicans declared.

    While this was probably intended as a show of strength, an examination of the result from the press release issued at the conclusion of the process instead brings into question the claim to speak for the 22.

    The reaffirmation was signed by 125 bishops claiming to represent nearly 8 million Anglicans, but the result demonstrates that GSFA neither speaks for the Anglican provinces in the socio-economic global south, nor for a majority of Anglicans globally.

    In their press release, GSFA recognises this, and indicates that they expect bishops from the GAFCON provinces of Nigeria, Uganda, and Rwanda (who stayed away from the Lambeth Conference) to sign up in the future, which would swing the numbers in their direction. This may be the case, but it is not clear that these churches actually support the whole of Lambeth I.10, including the commitment to listening to LGBTI+ experience. The Church of Nigeria, in particular, has made it clear that listening to the experience of ‘homosexual persons’ is at odds with their position. They support the ongoing criminalisation of LGBTI+ people, which they assert is GAFCON policy.

    The Primate of South Sudan, as Chair of the GSFA council, was to the fore in pressing for the reaffirmation of Lambeth I.10, and 40.8% of the signatories were from South Sudan (51). The next biggest block comprised IAMA bishops (bishops from the new province of Southern African Lusophone countries).

    The third biggest block vote comprised bishops from TEC (8) – a province not listed as either a member or affiliate. On the other hand, no bishops from 5 provinces that GSFA claims to represent – Bangladesh, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, South Africa, and West Africa – signed.

    The claim to representation is especially interesting when the Province of South Africa is considered. The pre-Lambeth documents from GSFA include a paper rejecting the ‘Indaba’ model embraced by the design group of the last two Lambeth Conferences. This model was championed by the Primate of Southern Africa, the chair of the design group. GSFA claims to represent Southern Africa in objecting to the Indaba model. Now that we know that it does not have the support of a single Southern African bishop, this appears a hollow claim.

    The number of signatories from Australia (4), Canada (4), England (3), and Ireland (3) was greater than signatories from Burundi (1), Central Africa (3), Kenya (2), and Tanzania (3), all provinces in the socio-economic global south with significant numbers of Anglicans. I had conversations with several bishops in these African provinces who were adamant that GSFA did not speak for them. They asked me who these people were, and said they had no authority to speak for them. I was given access to WhatsApp groups in Kiswahili formed with encouragement to ignore the representations received from GSFA.

    The GSFA does not appear to represent 25 provinces of the Anglican Communion. We can say that it represents one very big one – South Sudan – and some smaller provinces, but not 25. It is a minority group in the global south.

    The next question is whether it represents 75% of Anglicans globally.

    The claim to overwhelming numbers was intended to be reinforced by Bishops being asked to declare the number of Anglicans worshipping in their dioceses. There are two problems with this; firstly, this was not validated and secondly, it is rare for worshipping Anglicans all to support the opinions of their bishop. It is unlikely that all – or even a majority – of the 19,800 Anglicans in the dioceses of the three Church of England Bishops who signed the document agreed with it. While it may be an accurate number, it may not be a useful number.

    The numbers in Tanzania are probably accurate, but again illustrate weakness. The three bishops there claim to have 88,000 worshippers. However, the Diocese of Central Tanganyika on its own has between 700,000 and a million worshippers in just one diocese. The three signing bishops are bishops of very small dioceses.

    This goes to demonstrate just how unreliable numbers are as a way to judge anything: they are a terrible way to judge truth – Jesus would have failed completely! However, what GSFA has shown by its own documents is that it does not represent 75% of Anglicans.

    There are bishops in provinces in the socio-economic global south who support equal marriage. The Province of Brazil has revised its prayer book to welcome same-sex couples. There are dioceses where same-sex unions are blessed. However, they are a minority.

    The clear message of the support for the Archbishop of Canterbury’s carefully worded address was that, although most bishops in most provinces will continue to support Lambeth I.10 in their dioceses and provinces, they are willing to continue in mission with those dioceses and provinces that think differently.

    This is also backed up by what I observed. TEC bishops were planning mission initiatives with African bishops. The South Sudanese bishops were very excited by their invitation to the Diocese of Salisbury.

    And the role of the Bible in all this?

    Archbishop Makgoba has shown that it is the Indaba way that is biblical. He shows that Paul gave local churches such as the church in Corinth the responsibility for cultural integration and dispute transformation. Paul never suggested that conflicts in local churches be referred to the Jerusalem Council. Paul founded a communion of churches, not a single institution. It is a Communion-based global church that images the missiological ecclesiology of Paul.

    In contrast, the GSFA champions a non-biblical approach to conflict resolution based upon Western European understandings where definitive judgements are made by majority in council and imposed on the whole. This way is the way of division. The splintering of the GSFA demonstrated why it must be resisted.

    So where are we?

    No one actually agrees with the whole of Lambeth I.10. They may say they do, but it was a compromise between a desire for a harder line and the sop of the promise of listening. When churches have genuinely listened to LGBTI+ people they have questioned the advice not to bless same gender unions and ordain LGBTI+ people.

    In many countries where Anglicans seek to decriminalise LGBTI+ people, the Lambeth I.10 formula is actually useful to them, because the language of human dignity is better than that of ‘human rights’. The human rights agenda is played as the new colonialism – imposing the will of a powerful Western lobby on the cultural norms of independent nations. The Call to respect human dignity is being seen by some as a call to act for decriminalisation. We should pray for and hope for action here.

    And for the Churches considering the deeper inclusion and celebration of LGBTI+ people? The message should be that the Anglican Communion will not fall apart if they go ahead.

     

     

    [1] Communiqué from the 8th Global South Conference, 2021, Para 10:
    ‘Under this Covenantal Structure, the Global South Fellowship is transitioning from being a grouping based on geography to one based on orthodoxy while appropriately keeping our historical roots.’

    [2] GLOBAL SOUTH ANGLICAN LEADER SETS FOUR PRIORITIES FOR ‘ORTHODOX DELEGATES’ ATTENDING THE LAMBETH CONFERENCE – 7 July 2022 notes: ‘A Resource Group to support Orthodox archbishops/bishops attending the Conference has been set up by the GSFA, and the Evangelical Fellowship in the Anglican Communion (EFAC).  It comprises Bishop Henry Scriven (Hon. General Secretary EFAC), Bishop Rennis Ponniah (Hon Director, GSFA Executive Secretariat), Bishop Keith Sinclair (National Director, Church of England Evangelical Council), Canon Charles Raven (Director Relay200, The Relay Trust), Rev William Mok (Deputy Director, GSFA Executive Secretariat) and PR Consultant, Revd Paul Eddy.’ Rev William Mok is from Malaysia in the global south, but works in Singapore in the global north.

     

  • Purist, Principled, Pragmatic? A Good Friday Agreement for the Church of England

    by Simon Butler, former member of Archbishops’ Council and member of General Synod 2005-2022

    The death of David Trimble was announced this week. Tweeting about Lord Trimble, Alistair Campbell, who knew him well through the Good Friday Agreement negotiations, said this: “He could be a difficult and mercurial character but he was the right man in the right place at the right time.”

    That got me thinking about where we go next as we approach the end of this part of the Living in Love and Faith (LLF) project. As we move from the phase of listening and learning, and await what emerges from the Next Steps Group and forthcoming House of Bishops meetings, who might be the right people in the right place at the right time in seeking a way forward beyond the current position we find ourselves in, which both conservatives and progressives find equally unsatisfactory and toxic? Setting aside questions of personality and temperament, which make some people less suited to negotiation and compromise, who needs to be talking to whom, when and about what?

    Looking across the divide as a progressive towards my conservative colleagues, I see two broad positions being taken. This first I might describe as purist. Purists don’t just hold a conservative position but appear to believe that such a position is the only position that can legitimately be held by anyone who claims the name of Anglican. The purist position was articulated well by Dr Ian Paul who, speaking on BBC Newsnight recently, said this: “To say that there is a plurality of views [about same sex marriage] is to claim that the two different views are of equal value and of equal significance … the 2016 Primates’ Meeting said that the moves in North America are a fundamental departure from the faith.” The full quote does more justice to the Primates, “Recent developments in the Episcopal Church with respect to a change in their Canon on marriage represent a fundamental departure from the faith and teaching held by the majority of our Provinces on the doctrine of marriage.” The Primates didn’t unchurch the North Americans by this statement, they didn’t claim that the American Church is apostate because it has changed its marriage canons, and they didn’t claim the historic view held by the majority is one universally held, as developments since 2016 have shown. So, while the Primates expressed dismay at the emergence of same-sex marriage in The Episcopal Church, the predominant theme then, as now with Lambeth 2022, is of ‘walking together’. Dr Paul allows the rhetorical moment to get the better of him, and he claims more than the Primates do. Still, he articulates the purist view with skill and passion: there can be no compromise. Changes to the teaching on marriage imply it’s time to walk apart.

    It seems to me that purists want not just to uphold the historic teaching of the church; they want to impose and reassert their view on all Anglicans, whatever position scholarship, prayer and pastoral discernment directs our conscience towards, whatever the historic polity of the Communion allows. Delegitimising sincerely held matters of conscience is as profoundly un-Anglican and un-Reformed as it is unworkable. It is a form of theological totalitarianism.

    Alongside the conservative purists are those who I might describe as principled but pragmatic. Perhaps adopting the wisdom of Gamaliel, these hold their principled opposition to any non-heterosexually married sexual activity, while recognising that progressives are part of the Church of England (and the Anglican Communion) and that they are likely to remain so. For these conservatives, what they are looking for is some form of provision rather than simply suppression of their opponents. For example, take the position of the Church of England Evangelical Council (CEEC) in its 2016 paper Guarding the Deposit. Having first articulated what seems like a purist view, namely a reassertion of traditional sexual ethics while disciplining more effectively those who live outside of this sexual ethic, the author then moves on to what is described as ‘visible differentiation’, an ecclesiological solution in a church which is not prepared to enforce the purist view. This is both principled and at the same time pragmatic, for it opens the possibility that a future Church of England might remain made up of conservatives and progressives, albeit in a very different ecclesiological structure.[1]

    There is much that I baulk at in Guarding the Deposit, ecclesiologically-speaking, although it is interesting to ponder, building on the insightful arguments of Neil Patterson in a recent Via Media article, what ecclesiological compromises could become necessary for progressives if the opportunity to make progress on LGBT+ inclusion genuinely existed. But that is for the future. What I think we can acknowledge, however tenuously, is that the official position of the main Evangelical lobby group in the Church of England can foresee a shape to the Church of England where both conservatives and progressives can ‘walk together’, even if (what I would describe as) progress towards the full inclusion of LGBT+ people were made. I don’t think this has been sufficiently recognised.

    So, if this is the case, I think two clear consequences flow. First, the argument has moved on from purist versus progressive, and there is little value at the moment in progressives in engaging with purists in any meaningful sense. They hold their position with principle and passion, and inevitably they will be a vocal presence in social media. But nothing will satisfy them until people like me change our views, or shut our mouths, or leave our partners, or abandon the ministry of the Church of England altogether. None of that is going to happen, not least because God and his Church keep calling and ordaining LGBTI+ clergy. Purists have nothing to offer the post-LLF church except more conflict. Instead, I think progressives should start treating those who are principled but pragmatic conservatives with greater seriousness and respect, acknowledging their consciences as much as they must acknowledge ours. As we approach the end of the LLF process and are inspired by it, this is where future conversations will need to happen.

    Secondly, and this will be a particular challenge to those who have purist tendencies on the progressive side of the Church, we will have to compromise on what we talk about, how we talk about it and the way we talk about it. Painful and challenging as it may be for us to go through the familiar dissection of our most intimate feelings and sense of ourselves, we have to listen to our principled, pragmatic conservative colleagues without rushing to judgment; we might believe they are wrong, cruel, missionally-misguided or even a safeguarding risk to LGBTI+ people,[2] but just as we find it profoundly upsetting and beyond tiresome to be called sinners by conservatives, they do not find it at all easy to listen to or accept what we say if it is regularly coated with liberal judgmentalism, which is just our more coded way of calling them sinners too. We must learn to talk about what we want and the consequences not just for us but for them, and to explore the sort of issues that emerge for them should LLF produce a more progressive outcome than the current status quo.

    The Good Friday Agreement was an agreement between two parties who were principled and pragmatic, led by Gerry Adams and the late David Trimble; the purists in Northern Ireland, led by Ian Paisley, campaigned vigorously against it, but eventually even they agreed to work within the settlement that emerged and was democratically settled. That is not to say that things are at all easy in the Six Counties, but at least the Armalite has been replaced by the ballot box. Most progressives and principled, pragmatic conservatives probably would live with the ecclesiastical equivalent of a Good Friday Agreement in the Church of England. We certainly need a long-term settlement on which trust can be built.

    So maybe now is the time for the principled pragmatists on both sides to emerge. Perhaps, in God’s mercy, they can be the right men and women, in the right place at the right time too.

     

    [1] It is worth noting that Guarding the Deposit seeks provision for conservatives, which is only one way provision could be made; a wider conversation is necessary – whatever progressives like me want, we recognise that it is not what the Church of England has ever done in the past. It is we who are seeking provision at a different level.
    [2] A matter for safeguarding professionals in my view; being LGBTI in and of itself does not make someone a vulnerable adult.

     

  • Clericalist Individualism? Power, Abuse and Transformation

    by Ruth Harley, a curate in the Diocese of Oxford, and co-author of “Being Interrupted: Re-imagining The Church’s Mission From The Outside, In” (SCM Press, 2020), whose research interests focus around feminist ecclesiology and questions about how power is understood and used within the church.

    Immersing myself in the transcripts of the IICSA Anglican Hearings as the basis of my MA dissertation has been by turns frustrating, infuriating, terrifying, upsetting and enraging. But it has also been very enlightening. Much here tells us deep and uncomfortable truths about the church: who we are, how we fail and how we handle failure, what and whom we prioritise and at what cost. IICSA’s October 2020 report, at the very least, should be compulsory reading for anyone with any measure of responsibility or authority within the church.

    The primary outcomes from the IICSA process must, of course, be centred around safeguarding, and around the needs and voices of survivors of abuse, far too often side-lined and retraumatised by the church. There is a very real need for repentance in response to IICSA’s findings: for a willingness to confront the ways in which the church has too often been a safer place for abusers than for their victims, and a willingness to invest not only money and resources, but also our time, care and attention into the radical changes which are needed.

    But the impact of the IICSA findings extends far beyond their specific scope. The Anglican Hearings have been an apocalyptic event in the life of the Church of England (and, to a lesser extent, the Church in Wales), both in the sense that they were devastating, and in the literal sense of the term ‘apocalypse’ – that which reveals. IICSA has revealed the devastating extent of abuse in the church. It has revealed some of the systemic and cultural flaws which have led to the church becoming a place where abuse can thrive, where the reputation of the institution and powerful individuals within it are prioritised at the expense of victims and survivors of abuse, with those who report abuse ignored, stigmatised and re-abused by the very people and systems supposed to protect them.

    IICSA has also revealed something about what the church is, and how power is understood and (mis)used within the body of Christ. One of the factors I identified in my research into the ecclesiologies expressed during the Anglican Hearings was something I have termed ‘clericalist individualism’.

    It’s well documented that clericalism is part of the mechanism by which clergy who abuse can go unchallenged; see for example Rosie Harper and Alan Wilson’s To Heal and Not to Hurt and Gilo and Janet Fife’s Letters to a Broken Church. A culture of ‘Father knows best’ is not one in which transparency and mutual accountability can flourish. But, deeply intertwined with that clericalism, there’s a kind of individualism which sees significant information and decision-making – in short, significant power – rest with individuals (often, though not always, ordained) in ways which both render those individuals unaccountable, and obscure or distort the proper nature of the church as an interdependent body, characterised by mutuality. This clericalist individualism is not a problem of ‘the top’: it’s a danger at every ‘level’ of the hierarchical structure, from home groups, to the parish, the diocese, and the national church.

    The apocalyptic revelation of the church’s failings which IICSA provides may not seem like any ground for hope. But we are a church which both preaches and (at its best) lives resurrection: life which emerges out of death and trauma, and meets us on the road in unexpected ways. In revealing the sins which beset the church God is, I believe, doing a new thing, calling us to a new understanding of who we are and what it means to be church.

    And it starts with power. Naming, confronting and repenting of all the ways in which power is used in the church to silence, oppress and abuse. And then daring to believe that another way is possible. Resources within and beyond the church’s traditions can help us with that re-imagining. For over half a century, feminist theologians have been calling the church to renounce hierarchical power – ‘power over’ – and embrace a different kind of power, rooted in mutuality, relationship and solidarity – ‘power with’ and, as laid out in Anna Mercedes’ book of the same title, Power For.[1]

    It is a call which the church has so far largely chosen to ignore and suppress.  But as we confront the endemic nature of abuse within the church, and as we wrestle too with the ways in which oppression (on grounds of race, class, gender, sexuality, disability and more) thrives within the body of Christ, it is a call which has never been more urgent. God, whose way is love and whose work in Jesus Christ is the work of liberation, is calling us, the church, to embrace the revelatory work of the Holy Spirit in our midst, and to step into new ways of understanding how power can and should function in the church, so that we can grow more fully into the body we are called together to be: characterised by mutuality, interdependence, honesty and accountability and – above all – love.

    It would be all too easy to tell ourselves that abuse of power is something that happens ‘over there’ – only within ‘the hierarchy’, or only in churches ‘not like ours’. That is a comforting but dangerous lie. In any culture in which abuse flourishes, an underpinning myth is that “it could never happen here”. It could. It has. It does and it will. And each of us who are members with one another of the body of Christ have a responsibility to do the work which is required to make that body a safe and supportive church where all can flourish.

     

    [1] Letty Russell’s Church in the Round offers a more general feminist model of church based on mutuality and interdependence.