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Tag: Global South

  • What Does it Mean to be Anglican in a Post-colonial Communion?

    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

    A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend a few days in Atlanta, Georgia, with a remarkable group of people for a conference entitled ‘Living Postcolonial Anglicanism: Prospects for a Polycentric Anglican Communion’, hosted by Episcopal Divinity School, and run by two of the foremost postcolonial Anglican scholars, Kwok Pui-lan and Ian Douglas. It is not to overstate matters to say that it was one of the most remarkable events I have ever been to in any Anglican Communion space, not least because of who was – and who wasn’t – there, and what was – and wasn’t – central to discussion.

    This was a gathering that pulled no punches, and which was determined to move beyond the tired, hackneyed arguments around the Communion that have plagued Anglican debates for far too long. The voices in the room were far more female, far more indigenous, far less white, than at any discussion of the Anglican Communion I had ever been to before. Sex and gender were discussed but were anything but pivotal to conversations. Instead, what was at the heart of the gathering was a serious paying of attention to the things that continue, untested and unchallenged, to poison our common life as Anglicans – power, racism, colonialism and re-colonialism, empire, Englishness, lazy stereotyping, authority, money, and silenced voices. Central, too, was a determination to show that Anglicanism was no longer – and had not been for a long time – synonymous with Englishness (either ecclesiological or colonial), and that something new had been birthed, whether the Church of England wished to recognise it or not. And that something is not merely based on opposition or conflict – it is based on doing the work of decolonising and the recognition of a postcolonial reality.

    I should say that, as a white Englishman, I was in the minority – the serious minority. Indeed, at times I felt that I was being asked to justify why I should even be in the room, given the damage that the Church of England has done – and continues to do – to Communion relations. I understood that impulse, even if I felt somewhat conflicted about it. It was a strange experience being the ‘representative’ (unofficially, I should add, but certainly symbolically) of a church in which I frequently feel myself to be an outsider – frankly, in many Church of England spaces I feel like an intruder, an embarrassment, a queer aberration, and many queer people will know the feeling of being exiled that many of us carry around with us. It was uncomfortable then to have the tables turned, and at times I felt somewhat discomfited by the role I was playing in conversations and the way my words landed, with all the hidden context they carried.

    Yet being discomfited is a position that English Anglicans, particularly white men, need to get more acquainted with, if we are to play any useful part in the future of the Communion. So too is a commitment to intersectionality for those of us who remain beyond the bounds of the normative in the Church of England. This is particularly true in a church which offers courses in Anglicanism (both in England and more widely) in almost none of its theological colleges, despite claiming the role of ‘mother church’. Our arrogance is astonishing – yet so all-pervasive that we don’t notice it.

    It has always intrigued me that the Anglican Communion has an official office of representation at the United Nations. I have never really understood how there can be an Anglican Communion position on anything, really, given we are interdependent and autonomous churches in fellowship (of varying degrees) with one another. Yet this conference gave me some hope that there might be a different kind of Communion in the future, one able to tolerate polyphony and indeed embrace it, allowing voices to be heard in the corridors of power that might otherwise be excluded or marginalised.

    So much talk about the Anglican Communion in recent years has focused on shifting power – on re-colonising, establishing new loci of authority and power rather than questioning the whole premise of power itself. Of course, it’s easy as someone who is part of a church which has historically held that power to call for radical divestment of it rather than its assumption by another location, yet I do think that is the only possible future for Anglicanism – whatever ‘Anglicanism’ might be. Our attempts at structural reform have remained endlessly Canterbury-focused, and hence both Church of England-infused and ultimately centralising. Moving to a rotating presidency of the Anglican Consultative Council, for example, is hardly a radical move, and nor is any change to the Communion that leaves a White English bishop as its spiritual head. It does little for the Anglican Communion, and it does little for the Church of England either – not least any attempt to understand its role and identity in twenty-first century secular England.

    Yet the Global South Fellowship of Anglicans and GAFCON have hardly offered change in any serious philosophical way – instead it’s just been a shifting of power from A to B. It’s a failure of ecclesiology, and it’s a failure to really interrogate the colonial mindset that finds new formulations in the contemporary era, including in the queerphobic and racist narrative that suggests that the ‘Global South’ (an unhelpful term, as discussed here by Phil Groves, one whose vagueness is the key to its utility in abstract discussion) has a single and entirely negative view of LGBTQIA people.

    The way that the Church of England should engage with questions around same-sex relationships in the Anglican Communion remains complicated by the refusal to squarely face the colonial history. In any engagement with other provinces on sexual or gender justice, the living spectre of colonialism remains, meaning that the Archbishop of Canterbury – and by extension, English bishops – cannot speak to other bishops of the Communion on a level playing field, because we have refused to address the power imbalances that still exist. This is our fault – and it is entirely within our grasp to tackle it. We just choose not to, shifting chairs around on the Titanic instead. That there were queer, Black Anglican voices in the room from the ‘Global South’, for whom navigating these realities was anything but abstract, should not have been a surprising fact – but it was, given the way the powers-that-be in the Communion so often self-select and silence.

    English Anglicans have a lot to learn from our Communion friends, if only we would listen. I can attest to the fact that that listening can sometimes be hard, and can challenge our ecclesiological, missional, and ministerial assumptions. It is going to require us to change. Yet if we are not willing to listen, the lip service we pay to the Communion – however much we tinker with the structures – will do very little to change how and who we are. We can stick our fingers in our ears and pretend that Anglicanism is the same as the Church of England, and that we have nothing to learn from a global movement that is no longer ours to control – but we will deservedly be laughed out of town.

    There will always, I think, be a tension between unity and diversity in the Anglican Communion. There will also always be a tension in the ecclesiology, theology, and self-understandings of a global Communion. From my experience of this conference, it is polycentrism and a commitment to postcolonial living which offer a rich, enticing, fruitful way forward. Recognising the other as Anglican is the first step. Whether we are willing to embrace this shift in our mindset in England is, of course, another matter – whether we can afford not to is an open question.

     

  • A Response to “The Nature of Doctrine and the Living God: a Report of the Faith and Order Commission” (GS Misc 1429)

    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

    We can now see the legal advice and theological briefing which the House of Bishops was given before making their October decisions on Living in Love and Faith (LLF). One of these, the report of the Faith and Order Commission entitled The Nature of Doctrine and the Living God (GS Misc 1429), surveys Anglican understandings of the development of doctrine and the role theology has to play in the life of the Church. Putting it succinctly, the report makes it pretty clear that support for the Prayers of Love and Faith (not even for equal marriage) would probably constitute a “change” of doctrine which would also constitute an unacceptable change in our understanding of what scripture is, who God is, and who we are as created beings.

    Church reports are never as satisfying in theological terms as a good academic paper or book. They have different purposes and different standards for the arguments they make. And we also do not know which members of the Faith and Order Commission really contributed to it, and how, and to what extent its membership would agree with all the arguments made. I suspect that they don’t all feel excellent about this report. But we do not know any of this any more than we know whether any of the bishops have dissented from recent decisions and why. So we are left to evaluate the Report on its own terms, and to ask generous questions of those who may or may not have written the arguments it makes.

    It must be said from the outset that it is a strange document. It does have a few bloopers, as all reports do. The comment in §4 of the extended summary that ‘As the greatest of the medieval scholastics, Aquinas is representative of the thinking of the church catholic’ is certainly entertaining. It presents Aquinas’ thought as settled and established, ignoring the fact that the turmoil in the Roman Catholic church over the past 200 years has largely been caused by fundamental disagreement about what Thomas Aquinas meant, and whether the Aquinas we are talking about is his direct writings or the tens of generations of his interpreters who came after.

    As a scholar of catholic theology, a blooper like this does make my eyes roll involuntarily. But more problematically, it represents an attempt in this Report to present doctrine as something generally static, generally serene, a quiet lake in which even its dynamism is limited to the occasional wave breaking on the shoreline of its boundaries.

    But this is theological and historical make-believe. The theology of Paul was a seismic shock to the world. The emergence of the urban episcopate had monks and citizens rioting in the streets of the Mediterranean. The theology of Augustine was a genuine shock to the Church. Even the theology of Thomas Aquinas, with his startling new Aristotelian approach, was shocking and new, and was not and is not uncritically accepted in the church catholic.

    The doctrine of the church has never been worked out calmly and quietly. That isn’t how people work, especially not when we believe things dearly and love fervently the God about whom we are trying to speak and teach. Any portrayal of doctrine as settled and serene is fantasy. Well argued fantasy. But fantasy nevertheless.

    Section III of the report attempts to construct an Anglican sense of what doctrine is and where its limits are. It does this with a very eminent group of white theologians from the UK and North America, 22% of which are women. But it seems to pretend that the rest of the Anglican Communion and humanity has nothing to offer. They are or were all (John Henry Newman probably aside) either straight or in heterosexual marriages. Apparently nobody who would be directly affected by the Prayers of Love and Faith has ever thought about doctrine. Certainly never in the global south. There are people, even LGBTQIA+ people, South of the equator and East of Suffolk.

    In section III a degree of complexity is dealt with. But this is jettisoned in its summary synthesis §139-146 where a seductively unclear conclusion is presented:

    The nature of doctrine might be summarised as true knowledge about God that is communally authorised by warrant in the Holy Scriptures and is, therefore, communally regulative. (§146)

    What does “Communally Regulative” actually mean? Does it have a conservative meaning of establishing the bare minimum of precepts which a person must accept in order to be confident of their salvation, in the sense of Article VI of the Articles of Religion? Or does it have a broader, more liberal application, in the sense that ‘those things a Christian is required to know, believe, and observe are available to all in their reading of Scripture’ (§172) and that whatever lies outside this is not to be permitted. The Report acknowledges that the latter approach ‘is not expressed in the Church of England’s historical formularies per se’ (fn. 154).

    The former, more conservative approach, might fit better the doctrine of the scriptures found in the Book of Common Prayer and the historic formularies of the Church of England. English Anglicanism, at least in its formularies, is conservative about what it considers to be a “first order” issue. If anything ever mentioned in scripture becomes a “first order” issue, simply by virtue of the fact that it is mentioned in scripture, doctrine will simply cease to function as a useful means by which the Church teaches God’s people what their salvation is, and where their hope should be. Just because we feel very strongly about something at the moment, on either side, does not make it a first order issue.

    The knots a more liberal and expansive approach to what is a “first order” issue can get us into are clear in §171 of the conclusion. To pull at one thread of the great edifice of “first order” doctrine which has been built up seems to threaten to unravel the whole.

    For many, the doctrine of marriage as it has been articulated historically foregrounds a clearly defined set of biblical texts. Furthermore, those advancing that argument maintain those texts are decisive in their teaching that only relationship between one man and one woman may be offered a form of divine authorisation in a marriage service, blessing, or prayer. To argue otherwise – as those in support of the PLF do – appears to constitute a simultaneous challenge to the doctrine of marriage, the doctrines that marriage refers to (such as creation and redemption), and also the doctrine of Scripture. (§171)

    The illusion of a near eternally settled body of doctrine which peacefully and unchangeably has taught and guided God’s people is both a historical fantasy, and also dangerous, as our theology becomes so simply overconnected that everything is raised to being a “first order” issue. Such theology is not strong. It is brittle. It is magisterial. It is expansive, regulatory and tends towards the authoritarian. It moves us ever closer to the next divisive issue and the next schism. It makes “windows into men’s souls” beyond what is necessary to assure them of their salvation. In that sense, it is deeply un-anglican.

  • The Alliance and the Bishop of Oxford

    by Canon Dr Phil Groves, a parish priest and convenor of 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.


    ‘The Alliance’ has written another letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury and once again the tone portrays them as the arbiters of orthodoxy. In this letter they make it clear that they will remain within the Anglican Communion while effectively becoming a separate church – a new province – in England.

    They give the impression that it is the Church of England which will be isolated from the theologically uniform Global South, and so from the Anglican Communion itself, while they will be welcomed with open arms. They accuse the Archbishops of Canterbury and York of ‘Western elitism’ in ignoring the views of the Global South and claim they are the ones striving for unity.

    My own bishop – the Bishop of Oxford – has written a response. In it he refers to the consensus at Lambeth 2022 which was to accept different views on sexuality and to walk together. He criticises the Alliance for not mentioning the persecution of LGBTIQ+ people in parts of the world where the [Anglican] church has given its support.

    Replying to Bishop Steven, the Alliance has emphasised its opposition to the persecution of LGBTQIA+ people, but they also make clear their commitment to be in full communion with Provinces at the heart of GAFCON and the Global South Fellowship of Anglicans (GSFA) – including provinces such as Nigeria and Uganda which have promoted and rejoiced in laws that have deepened the criminalisation of LGBTQIA+ people and their allies. The members of the Alliance feel compelled to break with those who bless the union of people of the same sex, but not to break communion with those who rejoice that freedom of speech and freedom of association have been removed from those seeking to defend some of the most vulnerable people in their societies. The Alliance says it is ‘deeply concerned about the persecution of LGBTQIA+ people’ and they emphasise that their affirmation of Lambeth I.10 includes a clear repudiation of all homophobia. I don’t doubt their sentiment, but they are still aligning with church leaders who have praised laws that potentially imprison people for even being suspected of being gay.

    The letters from the Alliance frequently talk about the ‘Global South’ representing 75% of Anglicanism. This is an extremely misleading claim. It may be that 75% of Anglicans live in the Global South, but even in one diocese, let alone one parish, there is always diversity. When the Alliance talks about ‘the Global South’ they seem to mean an organisation, GSFA, that according to its leader is defined by doctrine not geography. The GSFA has 8 Anglican member Provinces from a total of 31 provinces with Global South Anglicans. The GSFA has excluded or alienated most of the Global South provinces, and has been a cause of division.

    The Bishop of Oxford is right to point out that, if the Alliance is in partnership with 75% of Anglicans in the socio-economic Global South, then that includes being in partnership with Anglicans who have steadfastly opposed GAFCON and GSFA and with those who are deliberating change. In the terms set by the Alliance, many of them are not ‘orthodox’. The Bishop of Oxford is aware of this because the Diocese of Oxford has a partnership with the Diocese of Kimberley and Kuruman in South Africa, where prayers for those in same sex unions have recently been approved.

    And a further new partnership challenges the charge that the Church of England is failing to listen to Anglicans in the Global South. This week, the Bishop of Oxford announced the launch of a new link with the Diocese of Jamaica and the Cayman Islands.

    Archbishop Howard Gregory – the Diocesan Bishop of Jamaica and the Archbishop of the West Indies – entered the partnership well aware of the progressive stance of our Bishop and of many in our Diocese. The partnership is for all in both dioceses, not just with those who self-proclaim themselves to be ‘orthodox’. His diocese also has theological diversity and we will find common ground and real challenges. He has chosen to partner his complex diocese with our complex diocese, fully aware of the range of views we have here and the direction of travel under the leadership of our bishop.

    In contrast with the Archbishops of Nigeria and Uganda, Archbishop Howard has followed on from his predecessor – Archbishop John Holder of Barbados – and bravely squared up to the homophobia in West Indian culture and law. Far from being in thrall to ‘Western elites’, the Archbishop is seeking the repeal of the British colonial penal code.

    The place of the West Indies in the story of GSFA is illustrative of power struggles across the Communion. The South to South encounters of the 1990s were intended to enable a post-colonial Anglican voice to emerge, but in the late 1990s some of the leadership partnered with Western conservatives who were seeking support for their opposition to women bishops and a clear stance on human sexuality. Following the 1998 Lambeth Conference, and up to his retirement in 2009, the Archbishop of the West Indies, Drexel Gomez, was at the heart of these partnerships. However, his lead role in that organisation alienated him from the bishops in his province. They had their own partnerships with dioceses around the world, including TEC, and they did not necessarily support his views. He was spoken of as ‘representing’ them, but he had no mandate to do so.

    His retirement coincided with the meeting of the ACC in Jamaica in 2009. I was privileged to meet all the bishops from West Indies that week and several of them told me that they had been lobbied by Western conservatives (including one from the Diocese of Oxford) telling them who to elect as their Archbishop so they could preserve continuity with the Global South. By a huge majority they ignored the advice and elected a radical alternative – Bishop John Holder.

    I knew Bishop John well. In 2006 I had just been appointed Facilitator for the Listening Process on Human Sexuality in the Anglican Communion and he sent me a copy of his training manual for all clergy in his diocese. He did so because one of the four sessions was aimed at enabling his clergy to face their homophobia, and change. He was not bowing to any Western elite; it was the conclusion of his deep engagement with Scripture and the result of his deep listening to the experience of LGBTIQ+ people (as mandated in Lambeth I.10).

    When the Bishops of the West Indies chose him as Primate, they did so in order to break with the organisation that the Alliance calls the ‘Global South’ and to ensure that they were part of an Anglican Communion that included TEC and the Anglican Church of Canada.

    This pattern was often repeated across the Communion. I saw it in Ghana, Tanzania, Southern Africa and elsewhere and so when the GSFA tried to divide the Bishops at the 2022 Lambeth Conference by encouraging dissent through the signing of a document demanding universal conformity with Lambeth I.10, only a tiny proportion of bishops from the Global South signed up. Not one bishop from the West Indies signed it.

    Calling the GSFA ‘the Global South’ is deliberately confusing. Because it is an organisation that is defined by doctrine not geography, people may be surprised to know that the breakaway Anglican Church in North America is a member! Yet the vast majority of Anglican Provinces in the socio-economic global south are not.

    All this does not mean the partnership between Jamaica and the Cayman Islands and the Diocese of Oxford will be easy. Jamaica has been struck by a deadly hurricane almost immediately after the announcement of the link and this calls for us not only to seek money to help but also to ask hard questions about our responsibility for the environmental crisis engulfing the world. We will also be required to examine our place in the horror of chattel slavery. One of the historic patrons of one of my churches was a slave owner – my guess is that slave-trade related patronage runs deep within our diocese. Effective partnership is going to be uncomfortable for all of us.

    This new partnership indicates that the Anglican Communion has a healthy future. We will need to face difficult conversations with openness, honesty, and humility, but we will benefit from those as we walk with Christ.

  • Let’s Disagree to Agree: Rwanda and Homosexuality

    by David Bagnall, Associate Rector of St John’s Episcopal Church, Edinburgh. Formerly chaplain of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, his PhD thesis examined the role played by language and discourse in generating new concepts of homosexuality in the Anglican Church of Rwanda

    One of the perishingly few points of general agreement within the sexuality controversies currently wracking the Anglican Communion is that everyone disagrees. Disagreement, as we all know, is at the heart of the issue – indeed, that’s the whole point. Put crudely, liberals, generally in the Global North, think that homosexuality is a God-given identity to be cherished and nurtured along with everything else that is sacred and holy; conservatives on the other hand, generally in the Global South, think that homosexuality is sinful and is a way of life chosen by fallen humans in defiance of God’s law and purpose. So far so simple: we disagree. Or so we might think…

    My research focuses on sexuality debates within the Anglican Church of Rwanda (ACR), and in particular on the role the Rwandan church has played within global sexuality controversies. Research in this area is continually fascinating, of course, but among the most startling of my findings has been the fact that, contrary to popular opinion (my own included), disputes regarding sexuality across the communion aren’t so much characterised by disagreement but rather by misunderstanding, or even miscommunication. My research focuses on debates between the ACR and the Church of England, and therefore involves interviewing many priests from both provinces about their experiences in discussions and dialogues, and time and again – to my surprise – interviewees report not so much disagreeing with their interprovincial colleagues but actually failing to understand them. Many priests I interviewed described such conversations as being deeply frustrating, with one CofE priest telling me that almost every conversation had been ‘a non-starter’, and a Rwandan Bishop noting that ‘there is no listening’ within the debates. Moreover, when asked about the nature of this frustration, members of both churches described it consistently in terms of a failure, not to agree, but even to understand one another. One CofE priest, for instance, told me of a conversation with a Rwandan friend regarding homosexuality in which his friend ‘couldn’t understand’ what it was that he was trying to describe, and that there was ‘a massive…difference’ in what they were each attempting to communicate. One CofE Bishop, too, told me that he felt that there was ‘a very big gap’ in understanding during conversations he’d had with Rwandans, and former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams noted that such conversations seemed to him to be ‘a dialogue of the deaf’. One Rwandan priest, finally, commented that for this reason sexuality is ‘difficult to talk about’, and Bishop Nathan Amooti of Kigali, reflecting on such difficulties, concluded sombrely that ‘there’s no proper dialogue’.

    The reasons for these misunderstandings are multiple and complex, and are too lengthy to detail in a single blog post, but at their centre is the fact that there are wildly diverse meanings conveyed within the English word ‘homosexuality’ when used by different actors across the Anglican Communion. For British Anglicans – regardless of their opinions on the subject – my research reveals that the meanings and resonances conveyed in the word reflect its deep and entangled history of usage within the British Isles. It has roots in psychopathology, but contains insights from theology, politics, socio-cultural discourses, and even legal practice. It has resonances of everything from the Wolfenden Report to Virginia Woolf; from Stonewall to David Beckham’s sarong. In other words, the word ‘homosexuality’ has a particular and culturally contingent history within the UK, all of which is contained within and expressed by it when used by British people.

    By contrast, the word ‘homosexuality’ has a startlingly short history within Rwanda. In Anglican circles it first appears within interprovincial documents in the late 1970s, but is barely mentioned until it suddenly explodes into life during the mid-2000s, during which time the ACR established deep bilateral partnership with disaffected conservative American Anglicans. It was by means of this partnership that an astonishing wave of anti-homosexual literature entered the Rwandan Church and. once there. came to redefine and renegotiate native and organic understandings of what we would call homosexual behaviour. For, just as homosexuality has a rich and complex history of development within the UK, so does what we would call homosexuality have a correspondingly deep history of development within Rwanda, though of a different kind. Prior to the mid-2000s, the word used by most Rwandans to describe homosexual contact was mutinganyi which, as my research revealed, conveyed a very different meaning to the British word ‘homosexual’. The word ‘mutinganyi’ is rich in depth and meaning, but at its heart is the idea of the use of intimate same-sex sexual friendship and activity as a means to self-knowledge and mutual development. Crucially, too, the word has no sense of the pejorative about it and isn’t tied to any ideas of identity exclusive to heterosexual norms. To be a mutinganyi, then, was to be a person who had intimate relationships – both sexual and otherwise – with people of the same sex, but in a fashion that wasn’t at all prohibitive of heterosexual relationships. It’s difficult for us to conceive of how this could be the case, of course, but that’s because I’m describing the phenomenon in English and using words which, as we have seen, convey different meanings. The point at stake, then, is that sexuality itself has an utterly different history of development within Rwanda no less rich than our own, and which our own words are simply incapable of describing, at least in discrete terms.

    The problem is, however, that the word mutinganyi is hardly ever used in Rwandan Anglican circles in the present day, and has come to be replaced almost entirely by ‘homosexual’. The reasons for this are chiefly down to the extraordinarily pugnacious and virulent anti-homosexual discourse introduced into Rwanda by American conservatives in the mid-2000s, which itself has evolved and developed within Rwanda to become the ubiquitous language within which sexuality debates are currently couched. It is for this reason that homosexuality is perceived without exception within Rwanda to be both a novel and foreign phenomenon. Paying close attention to language-use and development reveals that, in a strict sense, it is. The meanings and resonances conveyed by the word ‘homosexual’ – forged in conservative circles within American Anglicanism – are indeed both novel and foreign to the organic understandings of sexuality detailed above, and the near-ubiquitous use of the word ‘homosexual’ within Rwanda has therefore come to obscure or even redefine such native understandings.

    The reason why all this matters, then, is that people like me – who care deeply about the dignity and welfare of gay people, and who long for the day when people of all sexualities can participate fully as equally members of the Body of Christ – need to watch our language. For in using words like ‘homosexual’ in interprovincial dialogues, progressives are constantly in danger of unwittingly colluding with conservatives by falling into conservative narratives of a so-called ‘Western agenda’. If we want to see a church that celebrates the rich diversity of sexualities and sexual orientations that God has created, then we must resist the temptation to see our own sexual categories as ubiquitous, and focus instead on celebrating and fostering organic and culturally contingent sexual epistemologies throughout the Anglican Communion. Doing this, of course, will require patience and a constant awareness of the particularity of our own discourse and the discursive traditions of others. It will require serious thought, too, and the wisdom to discern when the limits of our language precludes real mutual understanding. True agreement may be far off, of course, but at least we might start with true disagreement.

     

  • Embodying Lambeth: Homophobia, Hope and Honesty

    Embodying Lambeth: Homophobia, Hope and Honesty

    by Fr Jarel Robinson-Brown, Co-Chair of OneBody OneFaith and Visiting Scholar at Sarum College, Salisbury

    ‘To encounter oneself is to encounter the other: and this is love. If I know that my soul trembles, I know that yours does, too: and if I can respect this, both of us can live. Neither of us, truly, can live without the other…’

    – James Baldwin, The Devil Finds Work, 1975

     

    It would be fair to say that I have been wrestling recently, quite deeply, with what place hope should have in my life. Not just as a Christian, but as a priest – I’ve wondered whether hope is all it is made out to be, and whether hope (real hope) is even possible as someone who exists in a body whose skin invites violence and micro-aggression and whose sexuality endures inequality, oppression and injustice. For years, as someone Black, Gay and Christian I have wrestled with what part of me really ‘came first’ in that list of identity that I carry not by choice, but because the world is a place where labels, compartments, boxes exist. And they exist, on the whole, to make those who do not carry them – feel safe.

    One thing people often say in relation to my recent book is that a shorter title would have been better. But ‘Black, Gay, British, Christian, Queer’ defines those of us who live at the intersection of race, religion, sexuality and culture. As I wrote: ‘as Black Queer Christians  … we feel pressurized to choose at times between our Blackness and our Queerness, our Britishness and our African-ness, our religion and our desire, our life partner and our families, our bodies and our souls…To some we are no longer Black, to others we are no longer Christian. We live then faced with an impossible ultimatum between ‘life’ and life – to live as we are expected to live, to live in the freedom that is ours but will cost us nothing short of absolutely everything to inhabit’ (p.24).

    So to return to hope, I still remain uncertain as to what place hope should have in my life – and I went to the Lambeth Conference fairly hopeless but left with more hope than I imagined possible. Getting on the train to Canterbury, I was already apprehensive – the 15 year-old child sat in tears around the family dining table defending his right to exist was back…, “this is just who I am” in the face of “you can’t be Gay and Christian, the Bible says it’s wrong”. Standing in the truth of who I am does and has cost me much, not least my relationship with my father and other family members – but when the only options before you are staying in the closet and death (and both are the same thing I think) the choice was clear.

    By the time I arrived in Canterbury a statement had been released by the Global South Fellowship of Anglican Churches which stated that they would table their own call to re-affirm Lambeth resolution I.10 as the “Anglican Communion’s ‘official teaching’ on marriage and sexuality” and to impose sanctions on Provinces which ordain bishops in same-sex relationships and conduct same-sex weddings. Rather than receive communion alongside such bishops, they announced that they would stay seated, as one of “a number of ‘visual differentials’”.

    It was of course, like stepping into the lion’s den. Seeing those who had decided that receiving the sacrament of the Eucharist alongside people like me was impossible. My black body stood at an LGBT+ stall was clearly quite confusing to some of my brothers and sisters from other parts of the world. To embody an “issue” in the skin of those who are most vocal against it was an interesting experience.

    At the forefront of my mind was the reality that I am one among many whose ancestors did not leave Africa willingly, but who were taken from their homes to far off lands. Whilst I am a citizen of the UK and Jamaica, I am also an African Gay man, and a Christian. Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if we were never taken – what language would I speak, what clothes would I wear, what God would I know. This sense of unknowing is powerfully articulated by Cole Arthur Riley in her work ‘This Here Flesh’:

    ‘I do not know from where my ancestors were abducted. I cannot tell you what the air smells like there. I don’t know what sound the waves and soil speak. These things were stolen from me as they were from them. I think it is one of the deepest evils to become a thief of place, to make someone a stranger to their home, and then mark their relationship to the land by bondage instead of love.’ (p.22)

    Although at times the space at the Lambeth Conference felt occasionally hostile rather than violent, I was surprised by the deep, warm and meaningful encounters I had with Bishops and those invited spouses who were willing to engage – even inviting me to their countries to engage in dialogue around LGBTQ+ lives. It would take more courage than I perhaps have to go to countries where homosexuality is still illegal, but then I already do so whenever I go to Jamaica.

    It seems to me that not enough attention has been paid to cultural aspects of this dialogue. There is, for example, a huge issue with seeing Africa as one homogenous anti-gay continent. Southern Africa is not Nigeria, Ghana is not Swaziland and Brazil, also part of the ‘Global South’, is extremely LGBT+ affirming. It is claimed that homophobia in Africa is pervasive, indigenous, deep rooted and normative, when in fact it functions on many levels: Political, Cultural, Theological.

    In his work ‘Out of Time: The Queer Politics of Postcoloniality’ Dr Rahul Rao notes:

    ‘As countless media reports purporting to analyse attitudes towards sexuality inform us, ‘homophobia is rife in Africa’. Contrasted with the queer freedoms of the West, such discursive constructions of Africa produce what Jasbir Puar has described as ‘homonationalism’ – an assemblage in which LGBT rights have come to be mobilised as new markers for an old divide between the civilised and the savage.’ (p.33)

    What this construction of Africa does is locate homophobia in Africa in such a way that removes agency from Africans to define their attitudes themselves rather than having them instrumentalised and manipulated by outside factors. Rahul Rao also names ‘homoromanticism’, a view which sees African people as blameless pawns caught up in a white, western culture war into which Africa has been dragged. Like ‘homoromanticism’, ‘homonationalism’ removes African agency to tell the story of indigenous queer identities and anti-queer attitudes from within the African cultural context.

    Rahul Rao also reminds us that postcolonial critique needs to go beyond simply reminding us of the enduring legacies of colonialism. Formerly colonised states have become colonial in their own right, and “the project of decoloniality might itself become a vehicle for the politicisation of ‘homophobia’”, as happened at the 1998 Lambeth Conference, when conservative evangelical American Anglicans capitalised on the demographic strength and financial weakness of the African Churches when weaponizing homophobia.

    For me, the very notion of a distinctly ‘African’ homophobia is essentially an orientalist narrative setting up Africa as the antithesis of Europe. The positions taken by many African clergy at the Lambeth Conference are driven by anxieties from the global south related to the preservation of culture, of customs, the notion of the family against the perceived and real threat of Global North hegemony. Nor is the UK the haven of equality and justice which the binary narrative claims – as my experience in this black queer body within and without the Church in Great Britain shows.

    What struck my black body most starkly whilst being present at the Lambeth Conference was that all, literally all, of our LGBTQ+ material and literature was in English. We understand ourselves as the centre of a universe which is so much more diverse than even we, who are wanting the Church to be more diverse, realise. Few know much about the cultures of Kenya or Sudan as well as other parts of the Global South, and so much of our queer theology and scholarship is shaped by our Eurocentric categories which neglect non-western epistemologies, conceptual and intellectual frameworks. When we commend LGBTQ+ justice and equality we do so not only across a theological divide but a cultural and linguistic divide. For a Bishop from along the Nile whose diocese is not even 10 years old, whose people suffer from floods and civil war, a conversation therapy booklet is baffling when his people have no access to good healthcare or the vaccine.

    So am I hopeful? I don’t know. What I do know is that there is no hope that things will change so long we fail to encounter difference. The Lambeth Conference hasn’t met for 14 years: many of the Bishops who are there now were not Bishops when it last met: the world, in just the past two years, has totally changed. We need to hold our English bishops to serious account for their cowardice, whilst paying careful attention to the dialogue around other parts of the Communion. There is, at the heart of this, just so much fear – perhaps what drives this fear is the reality that a Church which becomes more inclusive is fundamentally one which is more honest…more honest about the world God has made, and the people that make up that world – and maybe the illusion that God’s world is straightforwardly heterosexual is finally crumbling. But without encounter of the ‘other’, each of our worlds become smaller, less real, less true – whatever the future holds if it is a future shaped by God, and of course it is – it will be made up of all of God’s people. And a Church which is honest about the world is a Church which can attractively proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ whose love knows no bounds.

    ‘…There is no promised land without a multitude. You think you can get there alone, and maybe, by some rare chance you do. But what will become of the promise when it is collapsed by loneliness? Who is going to drink all that milk and honey with you? Look down in the cool, running stream. You cannot see yourself.’

    – Cole Arthur Riley, This Here Flesh, 2022

     

  • Lambeth: Colonialism, Power and Pawns

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

     

    It’s fair to say that the Lambeth Conference hasn’t – I think – worked out quite the way the Archbishop wanted it to. For months – years, even – we were told that it would focus on the things we share in common, rather than digging the sexuality hole all over again. Much water has gone under the bridge since 1998, and the facts on the ground show that Lambeth I:10 is no longer a serious statement of how things are within the communion. That ship has sailed.

    Yet there it was – that pernicious and unhelpful 1998 resolution – back in view as the Archbishop released his Calls, for which one could vote yes, or ‘sort of yes’, but not ‘no’. And now the Lambeth Calls team – a seemingly impenetrable (and very male) group unable to answer simple questions like who finalised the calls, or did the Archbishop see them before publication – have had to strike the totally unnecessary and divisive ‘reaffirmation’ of Lambeth I:10 from the drafts. It didn’t have to be this way. Someone made the choice that it should be – and whoever that is (and we may never find out, given the disgraceful lack of transparency) should really take some basic lessons in crisis management and avoidance.

    Of course, we are where we are. We find ourselves in a place where the damage has mostly been done, yet only a naïve Anglican-watcher would believe that the story ends here. We await more manoeuvrings, more angry words and more kicking around of LGBTQI people as the political football they so conveniently and often are for the Church of England.

    Yet out of the ashes of this monumental bin-fire, some good has come. For once, LGBTQI people have heard bishops – yes, really – standing up for them. Strong, prophetic, pro-LGBTQI voices have come from across the pond, but also from provinces outside of the US and Canada. Even in our own Church of England, a number of bishops have also stood up and been counted. This is a most welcome sign, and one which I hope and believe will be reflected once again during the conclusion of LLF. Perhaps this is the turning point. That said, those bishops who chose silence – remember, silence is never a neutral position – have also cemented their place in the history books when this sorry saga is finally over. This was not a time for behind-the-scenes machinations – LGBTQI people, and their tears, need to be seen, acknowledged, loved. Not to even bother sympathising with the pain of LBGTQI people – whatever episcopal theological perspective is held – is inexplicable.

    Yet there have been two quite malign themes that have been flowing through the dialogue from those who oppose LBGTQI liberation. The first, which is quite simply not true, is that young people are drawn to churches with an oppressive view on LGBTQI people and marriage. There is absolutely zero evidence that this is the case, but – as usual – if you say it loudly, robustly and often enough, people start to believe it. The key thing, of course, is that even where these ‘conservative’ churches have more young people in them, that doesn’t account for the millions of kids and young people who don’t go to any church. Are we seriously arguing that they are more likely to attend a church which tells them that their queer friends – or they themselves – shouldn’t get married? That is likely to be about as welcome to them as sticking pins in their eyes. Only an inward-facing church would reserve its rejoicing for those who are already within the tent. Meanwhile, LGBTQI people (and increasingly their allies, friends, relatives) are failed and won’t come within a mile of a church, however good the music or lighting.

    But the second line that has been taken relates to colonialism. This one takes more unpacking but, once it is unpacked, the deeply unchristian and disingenuous ground beneath it begins to reveal itself.

    Noises have been made – and were made, during the recent discussions to nominate more people from around the communion to the CNC – that a western church favouring LBGTQI inclusion should not dictate to the rest of the communion. It has been for this reason – however well intentioned – that nobody (or at least, almost nobody) in the Church of England’s hierarchy appears to have felt able to say anything positive about LGBTQI people or their marriages. There is – and there should be – a real sensitivity to colonialist language and actions from those in the Church of England. Racism and colonialism remain deeply embedded in our church. The problem is that the recent solution at General Synod – strongly supported by the Archbishop of York – will do nothing whatsoever to address this.

    The reality is that the Anglican Communion – or rather, a Communion that claims ‘by right’ that the role of primus inter pares belongs to the Archbishop of Canterbury – is institutionally racist and colonialist. It doesn’t matter how many people you add to the Canterbury CNC (and please note, the point that the new members from the Communion won’t have a majority was trumpeted as good news, a deeply concerning example of white power not quite being given up): so long as the Archbishop of the Province of Canterbury inevitably remains the head (using that term with much caution) of the Communion, we are stuck. England rules the waves. The change was nothing more than deckchairs on the Titanic – not that you would have gathered that from the crowing in the aftermath of the General Synod debate.

    Both LGBTQI people and Anglicans from the Global South are being reduced to pawns in a nasty little English power struggle. The fact is that whilst the Archbishop has an inevitable Communion role, the Church of England has no leadership of its own. Yet what is also true is that whilst England holds the position it does in the Communion, there will always be the risk of colonialism. That’s not about LGBTQI people – it’s about the underlying structures and nature of the Communion itself. It suits those who oppose LBGTQI liberation to focus on the ‘Communion’ role of the Archbishop – but this is nothing whatsoever to do with the lives of ordinary Global South Anglicans – it is all about power. In this worst of both possible worlds, England is silent – and yet holds all the strings.

    TEC, Canada and the rest did indeed make a big stink about what happened with the Lambeth calls – as they should have. This was not because they were forcing their will on the assembly but because they were advocating for their queer disciples against a Call sprung upon them with no notice, and against which they could not vote. Bait and switch. Those who opposed them were welcome to disagree. The issue is that the President of the Lambeth Conference – the person who takes ultimate responsibility – is … the Archbishop of Canterbury. It’s Colonialism 101. It is surely time for that to change – yet so often the English people calling ‘colonialism’ to beat down LBGTQI people are the same as those calling for the Archbishop’s primus role to remain. It is all about power.

    It is now time to call an end to the pitting of LBGTQI Christians against the Global South. We need a root and branch review of how we operate, and to reimagine the Communion for the twenty-first century. We must lay down our claim to power and instead move to a communion built on true equality, solidarity, friendship and companionship. Yes, people may leave – from all directions. But at least it will be built on honesty, and not on the backs of the oppressed.

    Ends, not means, as Kant once said. If we can’t do that as a church, then we cease to be a church at all.