Tag: history

  • The House of Bishops on Clergy and Same-Sex Marriage – Further Personal Reflections

    by Peter Collier KC, retired Senior Circuit Judge and former Vicar-General of the Province of York

    Further to my recent reflections on the House of Bishops’ October statement on the future use of the Prayers of Love and Faith, I have now also reflected on their statement about the future of clergy and same sex marriage.

    Again, they say they have been influenced by the legal advice they have received and the papers provided by the Faith and Order Commission (FAOC).

    My reflections, as one who until not so long ago was engaged in the practice of the law, begin in a different place. I begin by looking at what marriage is generally seen to be in cultures across the world and then consider how, in England, the relationship between Church and State has played out over the centuries in changing attitudes to marriage in both Church and State.

    Family, Household, Marriage and Law

    I am no anthropologist, but as I understand it the basic units from which societies have been formed are tribe, and family. In most cultures there is a social group that broadly accords with what we would describe as the family. The core may be two people or, in cultures recognising polygamy or polyandry, more than two people. In some cultures, the wider household grouping plays a significant role.

    It is usually in the context of such groupings that children are born and brought up. The core couple relationship in such groups is commonly called a “marriage”.  How a “marriage” takes place, with what degrees of social customs, or required formalities, varies from society to society. Many of us will have had some exposure to different customs through attending Muslim or Sikh weddings in this country.

    As societies become more complex and sophisticated, the regulation of any particular society through a system of law will inevitably develop. The law may require preliminaries and formalities if a marriage is to be recognised as such, and to regulate both initiating and ending such a relationship.

    More complex societies will accord different consequences as a result of a marriage being recognised, treating the two (or more) people as a unit to be dealt with differently from those same people as individuals. This can have an impact on taxes required to be paid or on monetary or other benefits that the state may provide. In our society there is also a significant amount of law about the place of children and how they are to be dealt with if a marriage breaks down.

    As a young Christian, I was taught that marriage is a creation ordinance – it was God’s intention that people would find a helpmeet with whom they would share their life and they would together bring up children. And so this unit has always been the bedrock of a society. Of course, that has traditionally been interpreted as showing that marriage is between a man and a woman and only between a man and a woman. But additionally Genesis can be said to speak of permanence and in Matt 19 we have Jesus using the Genesis phraseology when asked about adultery. That led to the Matthean exception about which volumes have been written; and we will come to remarriage after divorce in due course. I would add that the church that taught me about creation ordinances also taught me that the world was made in 7 days; an article I wrote in the school 6th Form magazine (in 1965) advancing that cause led  my Headmaster to write on my report that term: “his Philistine attitude to science will be recorded on his UCCA form”.

    Since then, I have learned how to accommodate my interpretation of the Genesis account of creation to a growing understanding of what science shows us. Similarly, I have learned how to accommodate my understanding of what the Bible teaches about marriage, based not only on what science has shown us, but also and perhaps more significantly from getting to know some same sex couples and seeing the fruit of the Spirit in their lives. As my wife often reminds me, just as in our encounters with Christ, “conversion is in the meeting”.

    Whose Law?

    Throughout much of Europe, and in this country for nigh on a thousand years, the way marriages were initiated and thereafter controlled was governed exclusively by the Church. As the Christian church developed so did its Canon law through various synods and councils. In relation to marriage, perhaps the most significant of those was the 4th Lateran Council (1215). Its published Canons about marriage included Canon 50, prohibiting marriage in the 2nd and 3rd degrees of affinity, and Canon 51, forbidding clandestine marriages and priests witnessing such marriages, and providing that all marriages must be announced publicly by the priest in church so that legitimate impediments might be made known and the priest could investigate whether any impediment existed. That same duty and very similar phraseology remain in our own Canons today, over eight hundred years later – see Canon B33 (Of the duty of the minister to inquire as to impediments).

    The Church was able to impose its view of marriage – what it was and how it was to be solemnised and regulated – on the whole of English society. Consequently, for several hundred years the church and the state views about marriage were one and the same. Church courts had exclusive jurisdiction in enforcing the Church’s view of marriage. It was therefore the Canon law that was applied in all circumstances. It was only in church and in accordance with the rites and ceremonies of the church that anyone could enter into a marriage in England.

    The theology of marriage as understood by the reformers is set out in the introduction to the ‘Form of Solemnization of Matrimony’ in the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) – a man and woman come together in the sight of God and the face of the congregation to be joined in holy Matrimony; they declare (by their silence) that there is no impediment to their marriage; they then make various vows of lifelong commitment to one another; they are then blessed. In medieval times the making of vows had often happened in the churchyard or in the entrance to the church and the couple then came into the church for the blessing.

    However, there is nothing in the 39 Articles about marriage, apart from it being lawful for bishops, priests and deacons to marry (Art 32).  The wording of Art 32 is very interesting: “… therefore it is lawful for them … to marry at their own discretion, as they shall judge the same to serve better to godliness”. I think that many who are wanting to enter into a same-sex marriage would claim those words for themselves. The Canons of 1603/4 had no statement about what Holy Matrimony was, just details about its preliminaries, and the permitted place and time of marriage (Art 42); who can grant licences to marry, and other details about licences (Arts 101, 102 & 103); and finally various provisions about divorce (Arts 105,106 & 107).

    Recognition of marriages

    It is perhaps reasonably well known that how countries deal with other countries’ systems of marriage forms a very complex area of law; not all forms of foreign marriage are recognised in this country as valid. Currently, the government is considering how to enable humanist weddings, and those performed in accordance with other religious traditions such as Islam, to be equally recognised as those carried out in accordance with English law.

    But what is perhaps not quite so well-known is the origin of that non-recognition of forms of marriage other than those carried out in accordance with the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England. There were exceptions for Jews and Quakers, provided it could be proved that the marriage had been carried out according to the practices of either of those two distinct groups. However, the theological (and therefore the legal) position was that a couple were not married by a priest, but they married each other by the exchange of promises. The priest’s role was to register and to bless the marriage.

    So, there grew up the practice of “clandestine marriages”. These were marriages conducted secretly without following the legal formalities required. In England that meant they had not gone through any of the necessary Canonical preliminaries and had not been performed in accordance with the BCP service for the solemnisation of Matrimony. They were sometimes referred to as Fleet Marriages as many of them were conducted in the Fleet Prison or nearby. By 1740 it is estimated that half of London weddings took place there. Such marriages were often witnessed by a priest.

    The beginning of state intervention

    With the intention of bringing the practice of such unsatisfactory marriages to an end, the Clandestine Marriages Act 1753 (Lord Hardwicke’s Act) was passed. It put all English Canon Law about weddings on to a statutory basis. It made invalid all marriages that were not performed in accordance with its provisions, unless performed according to Jewish or Quaker rites. So, those apart, a marriage had to be carried out in church after the publication of banns, or the obtaining of a licence from the ecclesiastical authorities (i.e. in accordance with the Canons). This Act was significant because it was the first time that the state law makers made laws about marriage, even if the law they made was simply adopting the church law.

    With the growth of non-conformity, members of other religious denominations and groups also wished to be able to be married other than in and by the Church of England. In particular, Unitarians were very unhappy about the Trinitarian language of the marriage service. This was eventually resolved by the Marriage Act 1836. I have referred to this in my earlier paper and noted the Bishop of Exeter’s distress at this invention of “civil marriage”. I also referred there to the removal of any religious service from civil weddings in Register Offices in 1856, bringing about the difference between religious and secular marriages.

     Some other state-led changes in our attitude towards marriage

    The relationship of a husband and wife within a marriage was again shaped by the ecclesiastical law which was based on scripture, as then understood. Some of that understanding remains to some extent among those who hold to “complementarian headship principles”.

    The tradition developed that a woman was given by her father to her husband – passing from the control of one man to the control of another. For a long time, a married woman had no right to own her own property and on marriage her husband gained control of all her property. That did not change until parliament intervened and the Married Women’s Property Acts of 1870 and 1882 gradually gave married women the right to own property, wages and investments separately from their husbands, and eventually to enter into contracts and lawsuits in their own names.

    Another ecclesiastical court action was for the restitution of conjugal rights. It was transferred to the court for Divorce and Matrimonial Causes when that was created at the end of the 19th century.  By such an action, founded on Paul’s argument set out in 1 Cor 7, a spouse whose partner had left them and was living away from them could obtain an order that they be required to resume cohabitation. This was not abolished until the Matrimonial Proceedings and Property Act 1970 came into force.

    The 1991 case of R v R [1991] UKHL 12 is a landmark UK House of Lords ruling that made marital rape a crime by overturning the centuries-old legal exemption for husbands raping their wives. The court’s decision established that a husband can be convicted of rape, thus dismantling the legal principle that a wife’s consent to sexual intercourse became irrevocable upon marriage.

    More recent changes – (i) Civil Partnerships

    A more recent and significant change has been the introduction of Civil Partnerships in 2004. This did not change marriage but introduced a new state-recognised relationship alongside marriage. If two people (who initially had to be of the same sex, but since 2019 can be of the opposite sex) register such a partnership in front of a registrar and two witnesses, they are accorded almost all the same rights and responsibilities as if they were married. The few that do not carry over have no particular significance from a religious perspective, being chiefly around survivor benefits in occupational health schemes. Many people regarded this as introducing same-sex marriage in all but name.

    Civil partnerships proved very successful. By 2014 there had been 60,000 partnerships registered, three times as many as the government had anticipated when introducing them. For some they were preferable to marriage as they carried none of the stains of patriarchal marriage traditions. But for others they continued the stigma associated with gay relationships. Such Civil unions, as contrasted with marriage, are also available in many other European and former Commonwealth countries.

    All that can be said about what a civil partnership is that it is the registration of a legal relationship between two people that produces a number of rights and responsibilities for them. There is no reference anywhere to what the relationship of the partners involves or does not involve behaviourally, particularly in the realm of sexual intimacy. Because it is silent in this area, the Bishops found it difficult to say that couples, including a couple where one was a cleric, should not enter such a partnership as there was nothing about it that was inconsistent with an exemplary way of life as per the Canons.

    But it has been the practice that if someone who presented for ordination was in such a partnership they were asked (by some, but not all, bishops) to confirm that they accepted the church’s teaching in relation to matters sexual. It used to be the case that the document “Issues in Human Sexuality” was referred to in that context, but that has now been withdrawn and potential ordinands as an interim measure are to be asked to confirm that they will live consistently with the Guidelines for the Professional Conduct of the Clergy. That document at para 10.2 states “The House of Bishops’ Marriage: A Teaching Document (1999) clearly affirms, ‘Sexual intercourse, as an expression of faithful intimacy, properly belongs within marriage exclusively.’” Further pastoral guidance on this issue has been promised and is awaited.

    More recent changes – (ii) Same-sex marriage

    It was the pressure for real equality rather than a civil partnership (which could potentially be seen as a second-class relationship) that led to the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act 2013. This introduced same-sex marriage. Nearly 40 other countries make same-sex marriage available. Between March 2014 and the end of 2022, 55,613 same-sex marriages were registered in the UK. In 2022, 7,800 same-sex marriages were registered, 4,896 being female couples and 2,904 male couples.

    It might be asked why a same-sex couple, perhaps already in a civil partnership, would want to convert it, as they can, to a same-sex marriage (note that you cannot convert a heterosexual civil partnership into a heterosexual marriage). The answer is perhaps because it has more of a sense of commitment, perhaps associated with the traditional attitude to and words around marriage ceremonies. The socialisation of marriage, which we learn about from the cradle onwards, would seem to carry a lot of weight.

    In a civil partnership, you apply to register it and do so before the registrar, but no words are spoken, no promises are made or exchanged. If you have a same-sex marriage then the same words are used as in a heterosexual marriage, where each person says that there is no impediment / reason in law why they should not marry and that they (call upon those present to witness that they) take the other to be their lawful wedded husband / wife. So there is a level of contracted commitment (about which more later) that is not present in a civil partnership. But it is obvious that those words fall far short of the exchange of vows made in a church service.

    The government recognised that some religious organisations hold a different view of marriage. The fact sheet published by the government in April 2014 said: “Many religious organisations believe that marriage should only be between a man and a woman, and the Act explicitly recognises this. The civil understanding of marriage has always been broader than that of many religious organisations. Marriage has evolved over the years, for example to enable Catholics, atheists, Baptists and many others to marry outside the Anglican Church, and to recognise married women as equal to married men before the law.”

    There are however some interesting features of the legislation in relation to matters of sexual intimacy. Unlike in opposite-sex marriages, non-consummation is not a ground for voiding a same-sex marriage. Furthermore, you can only bring a divorce relying on adultery if the offending partner has had sex with a person of the opposite sex. I am uncertain what to make of these matters, but it does seem to me to raise the question as to whether there is any underlying assumption, in either a same-sex civil marriage or in a same-sex civil partnership, that there must be sexual intimacy. Clearly, although it is possible for a same-sex couple to adopt a child or for one of a female couple to bear a child, the underlying assumption about procreation (the first of the Augustinian “goods”, as spelled out in the BCP introduction to the service) is simply not there as it would be in an opposite-sex marriage.

    The modern contract of marriage – as seen by the state

    A well-known legal definition of marriage was provided by Lord Penzance in the case of Hyde v Hyde  [L.R.] 1 P. & D. 130, decided in 1866. He defines marriage as understood in Christendom and in English law as: “the voluntary union for life of one man and one woman to the exclusion of all others”.

    The case itself is very instructive. Hyde was an Englishman who had converted to Mormonism. He met a young woman, also a Mormon, and in due course they went to Utah where they were married by Brigham Young in Salt Lake City. The male petitioner later renounced the Mormon faith but she did not. They separated and he returned to the UK. She then married again. Again her marriage was according to the Mormon form. The man then sued in England for divorce on the grounds of her adultery. The court refused his petition on the basis that it did not recognise his Mormon “marriage” as a marriage. The reason was that the marriage in Utah was potentially polygamous and English courts cannot recognise polygamous marriages. Lord Penzance, the judge, also said in that case, “Different incidents of minor importance attach to the contract of marriage in different countries in Christendom, but in all countries in Christendom the parties to that contract agree to cohabit with each other alone. It is inconsistent with marriage as understood in Christendom, that the husband should have more than one wife.”

    Lord Penzance’s definition of “the voluntary union for life of one man and one woman to the exclusion of all others” has come under some criticism in recent years. Rebecca Probert in Child and Family Law Quarterly, Vol 19, No 2, 2007 said that a new definition was needed.

    The President of the Family Division had in fact provided such a definition in the case of Bellinger v Bellinger [2001] EWCA Civ 1140 [2002] Fam 150; [2002] 2 WLR 411.2005.

    In that case the issue was the validity of a marriage contracted between the appellant (born a man but who had undergone transgender surgery) and the respondent (a man). There were a number of arguments to be addressed, one of which was that “The relationship called marriage is and always has been recognised as the union of a man and woman.” (para 124).

    Thorpe P quoted the above passage from Hyde v Hyde and said at para 128:

    “But the world that engendered those classic definitions has long since gone. We live in a multi-racial, multi-faith society. The intervening 130 years have seen huge social and scientific changes. Adults live longer, infant mortality has been largely conquered, effective contraception is available to men and women as is sterilisation for men and women within marriage. Illegitimacy with its stigma has been legislated away: gone is any social condemnation of cohabitation in advance of or in place of marriage. Then marriage was terminated by death: for the vast majority of the population divorce was not an option. For those within whose reach it lay, it carried a considerable social stigma that did not evaporate until relatively recent times. Now more marriages are terminated by divorce than death. Divorce could be said without undue cynicism to be available on demand. These last changes are all reflected in the statistics establishing the relative decline in marriage and consequentially in the number of children born within marriage. Marriage has become a state into which and from which people choose to enter and exit. Thus I would now redefine marriage as a contract for which the parties elect but which is regulated by the state, both in its formation and in its termination by divorce, because it affects status upon which depend a variety of entitlements, benefits and obligations.”

    That judgment was given before the introduction of civil partnerships and same-sex marriage. It now needs to be updated to refer to and include those in its modern definition of what is meant by marriage in the law of England and Wales.

    The advice from FAOC seems to me to be provided almost as if we were still in a position where they believe that the Church is shaping the law of marriage for England and Wales, as it did in the 18th century. It does not grapple with any of the issues created by the evolutionary development of marriage law by the state which I have been describing, nor with how the church responds to the external realities with which it is confronted. It is very much speaking within its own bubble.

    As we have seen in relation to marriages in other denominations, before 1836 not everything that purported to be marriage was recognised by the church as such. And, whilst the church ran the show, the state went along with its views. Little by little the state asserted itself and the two views diverged. The 2013 Act recognised that the Church has a different view about marriage from that which is now the official state position.

    The current contract of marriage is very far removed from the contract underlying the BCP service with its threefold Augustinian goods of procreation, faithfulness and permanence.

    It also seems to be the case that entering into a contract of marriage adds hardly anything to the registration of a civil partnership, other than at an emotional level.

    In those circumstances, and having regard to the absence of any reference to, let alone requirement for, sexual intimacy in a same-sex marriage, and having said that entering a civil partnership is not of itself inconsistent with leading an exemplary life, it seems to me that there is no good reason why the Bishops should not say that entering into such a “marriage” is also not in and of itself an ecclesiastical offence.

    Legal advice to the House

    I turn now to the legal advice tendered to the bishops on this topic. The Advice tells us that the Chief Legal Adviser to the Archbishops’ Council and the General Synod was asked “to consider two specific possibilities for legislative change to accommodate clergy who enter into same-sex (civil) marriages.”  Those two possibilities were (i) changing Canon B 30 and (ii) the creation of a power to grant a canonical dispensation to individual clergy that would permit them to be civilly married to a person of the same sex.

    Changing Canon B 30 (Of Holy Matrimony)

    It is noted that General Synod has previously resolved that current doctrine should not be departed from and so this route is not considered in any detail. It is however said that it would require more than a change in the Canons, because the doctrine is set out in other places also. This means that it would require a Measure to carry out further changes. Although it would be Article 7 business, it would only require a simple majority vote (presumably in each House) to carry that change into law.

    Canonical Dispensation

    The other option considered is granting a canonical dispensation. The similarity is drawn with the Canon C 4.5 process whereby faculties are granted to allow the ordination of those who have remarried whilst their former spouse is still alive. The Chief Legal Adviser considers whether there could be a similar faculty to allow an ordinand or cleric to be civilly married to a person of the same sex.

    He draws a distinction between that option and Canon C 4.5 on the basis that, when that was permitted, it was on the basis that when B 30 speaks about marriage being “in its nature a union permanent and lifelong” those words encompassed a marriage that was “entered into with the intention that it be permanent and lifelong (my italics)”. Thus, the legal advice at the time said that matters could proceed along the proposed route without compromising the church’s doctrine of marriage. I have always found that to be a rather specious piece of “special pleading” and a convenient way round the difficulty created by the doctrine as traditionally espoused. When the Measure was before Parliament assurances were given that this approach would be exceptional and only granted in exceptional circumstances. But it is certainly no longer the case that these situations can be seen as “exceptional circumstances”. Between 1993 and 2023, 2449 such faculties were granted; and it is estimated that one in six ordinations now follows the grant of such a faculty. And it is also the case that a number of clergy still refuse to remarry those who are divorced as they regard the vow as absolute and not conditional on best intention.

    As is well known, the Roman Catholic church does not recognise divorce, viewing marriage as a lifelong and indissoluble covenant. A civil divorce does not end the marriage in the church’s eyes and a divorced Catholic who remarries without an annulment is not permitted to receive communion. Their way round this is for the church’s marriage tribunal to grant annulments, i.e. saying that the marriage never really existed as a real marriage in the first place.

    But the advice to the Bishops goes further and says that powers of canonical dispensation “do not permit the doing of things which are contrary to the Church’s doctrine; they permit doing things which are not normally permitted as being contrary to good order or that otherwise require regulation. To provide for a power of dispensation to permit the doing of something that was contrary to doctrine would be a novel departure in the canon law of the Church of England.”

    Some historical canonical dispensations

    That last statement seems to me to pass over what happened in the nineteenth century amid all the controversies over ritualistic practices. The church was as divided then over ritualistic issues as it is now over sexuality issues. Again the law was clear and many of the matters in dispute were doctrinal. There were prosecutions of those who breached the law, some priests going to prison for the sake of their consciences. In 1881, the bishops in the Upper House of the Convocation for Canterbury reached a decision together that they would no longer prosecute people for breaching various rules of liturgical practice. This followed a decision of the House of Lords in a case against the Bishop of Oxford seeking to compel him to issue proceedings when a complaint was laid about unlawful practices, when it was held that his approach could not be criticised. Such dispensations granted by the bishops permitted the continued breaking of the ecclesiastical law.

    And that was not the only occasion when the bishops, for the sake of the good of the church as a whole, decided to act outside the law. The efforts to overcome the ritualism controversies led to the production of revised Prayer Books in 1927 and 1928. These were twice rejected by Parliament. Notwithstanding that, Convocation resolved to press on with its use. Bishop Hensley Henson said that bishops “found themselves compelled to act outside the law because the aid of the law, which was indispensable to the healthy progress of the church, had been refused to them.”

    A possible way forward

    This would seem to be a more accurate reflection of the law of dispensation (or “economy” as it is known in the Eastern church). Of course it is always easier to allow an episcopal dispensation if there is authority for doing so. And so the introduction of some form of canonical authority would undoubtedly be of assistance to bishops generally in this regard. This would be achieved by amending the Canons, which requires a simple majority (although I would expect there to be a vote by Houses and so a majority in each House would be required).

    One approach might be to add to Canon C 26 (On the manner of life of clerks in Holy Orders) a further paragraph at C 26.3 which might read as follows:

    The fact that a deacon or priest has entered into a same-sex civil marriage by virtue of the Marriage (Same-Sex Couples) Act 2013, shall not in and of itself be regarded as indicating a life other than one that is a wholesome example and pattern to the flock of Christ.

    A similar provision could also be added to Canon C 4 (Of the quality of such as are to be ordained deacons or priests):

    No person shall be refused ordination as a deacon or priest solely on the ground that they have entered into a same-sex civil partnership of same-sex marriage by virtue of the Marriage (Same-Sex Couples) Act 2013.

    It may be that there will be other and better ways of phrasing such dispensatory provision in the Canons, but I offer this as a starting point for moving forwards.

    Those who would wish to argue against this, as I know some will, have really got to grasp two things. First, the absence of any assumptions about sexual intimacy in same-sex marriages. Second, given that the society in which we live has redefined what it means by marriage, how do we as a church relate to those who have entered into civil marriages, whether same-sex or opposite-sex, which are now both very different forms of social contract from that of Holy Matrimony as set out in the BCP? These are two quite different contracts, and it will not do to rely on the fact that the section 1(3) of the 2013 Act preserved the church’s different understanding of what a marriage is, without working out what the consequences of that different understanding mean in practical terms.

     

  • The Body the Church Forgot: Reimagining Sacred Space from the Margins

    by Revd Canon Timothy Goode, Canon for Congregational Discipleship and Nurture at York Minster and member of the National Disability Task Group

    It is no small thing to speak in Canterbury Cathedral.

    To stand in such a space, as I did recently, where liturgy has echoed for centuries, where saints have walked and kings have knelt, where martyrdom was once not metaphor but blood on stone – it humbles you. The architecture seems to breathe with history.

    But I did not come to offer a history lesson or critique the Gothic arches. I came with something far more personal. I came as a disabled priest to speak to cathedral architects and to all those who advise cathedral chapters on matters related to the care, conservation, and development of our cathedrals. And I came to ask: Whose body is the Church really built for?

    Because for more than thirty years, I have been making my way through churches that were never designed with someone like me in mind. I have been pointed to side doors. I have been told the sanctuary was not accessible. I have preached from the nave floor while pulpits loomed like fortresses behind me. And I have listened to sermon after sermon about “healing”, often from people who have never actually asked what it is like to live in a body that will not, and should not, be cured.

    These are not just awkward moments or minor design flaws. They are symptoms of something much deeper. What we are dealing with is a theological vision of the human body that has been built into the DNA of the Church, a vision that equates holiness with symmetry, sanctity with strength, and wholeness with conformity to an able-bodied norm

    And this vision did not come from Christ. It came from Rome.

    To really understand this, we have to travel back to the fourth century. Before Constantine, the Christian movement was marginal, persecuted, made up of people who lived in their bodies very differently. The paralysed, the blind, the bleeding woman in the crowd – these were not just characters in miracle stories. They were the Church. They were apostles, disciples, leaders.

    Paul’s famous words in 1 Corinthians 12 were not poetic flourish: “The parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” That was not metaphor. It was the living theology of the early Church; a Body made up of many, including those society wanted to cast aside.

    But once Christianity gained imperial approval through Constantine’s Edict of Milan in 313 CE, something fundamental changed. With power came prestige. With prestige came compromise.

    The Church began absorbing Greco-Roman ideals about what bodies should be. Classical culture idolised symmetry, athleticism, control. The perfect body was strong, upright, unmoved by pain. And this ideal soon seeped into Christian theology.

    By the time we got to Augustine, even resurrection got redefined in these terms. In The City of God, he imagined glorified bodies as unmarred, restored to their ideal state: male, able-bodied, thirty years old. And that image was projected onto Christ. No blindness, no paralysis, no visible deviation. Jesus Christ, the template of the idealised norm.

    It was a compelling vision, if you fitted the anthropomorphic mould. But what happened when you did not?

    This theology did not stay in books. It seeped into the very stones of our churches. Cathedral architecture is not neutral. It never has been. It preaches. It catechises. It teaches us, without saying a word, what kind of bodies are expected, and what kind are not.

    Take the basilica model adopted from Roman civic halls: the nave, transept, chancel; spaces laid out not for inclusion, but for hierarchy. The sanctuary is elevated. The priest processes up stairs. The pulpit rises above the people. It is majestic, yes, but it is also profoundly exclusionary.

    Because every architectural decision makes a theological one. Stairs do not just raise the altar, they declare who is allowed to approach. Pews do not just organise a congregation, they assume bodies that sit still, rise easily, kneel without pain. Even the very materials of worship – hard stone, cold marble, polished brass – make a statement about which bodies are comfortable here, and which are not.

    So when I say these spaces were not built with me in mind, I do not just mean there is no ramp. I mean the entire architectural logic assumes I do not belong at the centre.

    Even churches that claim to be “inclusive” often betray this same DNA. The ramp is added later. The accessible toilet is behind a locked door or is used also as a storage space. The hearing loop was installed, yes, but no one knows how to turn it on. And the excuses? “It would ruin the symmetry.” “It would not match the historic stone.” “It might interrupt the line of sight.” What we are really saying is this: the building’s aesthetic matters more than the bodies inside it. And that is not just poor design. That is architectural idolatry. It is a heresy. It places form above flesh, heritage above hospitality, symmetry above sacrament.

    What makes this even more painful is the irony at the heart of our faith.

    Christianity’s most powerful metaphor is the Body of Christ, and that body was not perfect by classical standards. It was broken. Wounded. Pierced. And when Christ rose from the dead, he did not shed his scars. He showed them.

    That is the body our churches should have been built to reflect. But instead they reflect the sculpted ideal of Greco-Roman virtue, the inaccessible grandeur of empire. We have built not sanctuaries, but tombs. Our anthropology is not focused on the risen body of Christ. It remains focused on the able body of Rome.

    And yet the risen Jesus appeared in locked rooms, cooked breakfast with wounded hands, and invited Thomas to touch his open and pierced side. The glorified body of Christ was not healed from trauma, it was transformed through it. For the Word became flesh – not the Word became idealised marble; not the Word became stones and mortar – but the Word became flesh: human flesh, wounded flesh, disabled flesh, risen and ascended flesh. And the Word dwelt among us.

    So where do we go from here?

    We return to the risen Christ, not the polished Christ of stained glass and statuary, arms spread in symmetrical benediction, but the Christ who says: “Touch my wounds. They are still here. They are still holy.”

    And we build and adapt our churches accordingly.

    • A cathedral or church reordered from the eye level of a wheelchair user
    • A pulpit that can be used by a priest who signs the Gospel
    • A sanctuary without stairs, not because it is fashionable, but because it is just
    • Artwork that honours disabled saints, not after healing, but in the truth of their embodied reality
    • A memory wall where chronic illness, neurodivergence, and pain are honoured as sacred testimony

    This is not utopian. It is already happening, in small communities, in artistic collectives, in chapels where theology is being shaped from wheelchairs and hospital beds. The Spirit is moving. The question is whether the Church is willing to follow.

    I did not bring a building plan to Canterbury Cathedral. I brought a body – my own body – and the bodies of so many others who have been overlooked by the architecture and theology of a Church that said it was for all.

    And most of all, I brought the Body of Christ, a body still wounded, still risen, still with us.

    This is the Body I believe in. This is the Body I serve. This is the Body we can build.

    Let it be risen. Let it be wounded. Let it be real.

     

  • The Long and Complicated History of Church Debates over Sexuality

    by Dr Laura Ramsay, Senior Lecturer in Modern History at Bournemouth University. Her book, Sexuality and the Church of England, 1918–1980, is scheduled for publication in summer 2024.

    Recent debates in General Synod about ‘Living in Love and Faith’ have resoundingly confirmed that the Church of England is racked by deep disagreements over issues of sexuality. It is struggling to find its way towards a resolution that might enable those with opposing perspectives to move forward together. But Anglicans know that these are not new arguments or divisions. The Church has been wrangling with disputes about its approach towards same-sex relationships for many decades. The first clear sign of this was in 1974, when the Synod’s Board for Social Responsibility (BSR) appointed a working party to study the matter, which was chaired by John Yates, the Bishop of Gloucester (1975–91). The working party’s report, Homosexual Relationships: A Contribution to Discussion (1979), also known as the Gloucester report, refused to accept that all people had an “unqualified moral right to sexual self-expression” but cautiously proposed “that there are circumstances in which individuals may justifiably choose to enter into a homosexual relationship with the hope of enjoying a companionship and physical expression of sexual love similar to that which is to be found in marriage”.

    Such claims were thought to be so controversial that the BSR initially delayed publication and only agreed to this on condition that a statement of its own critical observations about the report was included as an appendix. The BSR also forestalled its discussion in Synod by arguing that more time was needed to digest the report and ensure the debate was “Christian, charitable, instructive and informed”.

    Yet, by the time the Gloucester report came before Synod in February 1981, tensions were running high and factions had formed on opposing sides of the debate. Members introduced various amendments and motions in a desperate attempt to force Synod to make a judgment about ‘winners’ and ‘losers’—to either endorse or condemn the Gloucester report’s views on same-sex relationships. Faced with these pressures, Synod decided to sidestep all efforts to force its hand. By a considerable majority, it voted to simply ‘take note’ of the Gloucester report and leave the matter open for further discussion.

    For many on the outside who are looking in at these internal controversies, it appears the Church has largely been chasing its own tail on this issue, and from this perspective it seems reasonable for them to assume that its views on sexuality have always been static and have always lagged behind those of wider society. Indeed, some speakers in recent Synod debates have similarly claimed that Church teaching about sex has always been at odds with culture (and, therefore, they argue that now is also no time for change).

    For a long time, historians agreed with such claims, largely assuming that the Churches had a limited role in the making of modern ideas about sexuality. Influenced by traditional theories about secularisation, most histories of sexuality tended either to ignore the influence of religion (and instead focused on the impact of secular ideas emerging from the fields of science, medicine, and the law), or they portrayed religion as a chief antagonist that fought against the forces of social change. However, such historical assumptions have since been overturned by a new body of scholarship which shows that Christian commentators (and sometimes institutions) actually helped to lead and drive developments in British sexual culture during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

    My new book, Sexuality and the Church of England, 1918–1980, further enriches our understanding through its original, academic study of the Church’s role in historical processes of sexual permissiveness and religious decline. It provides an archivally rich account of the Church’s institutional grappling with matters of sex, relationships, marriage, birth control, and same-sex attraction across a long and previously underexplored chronology. I tell the story of how, despite intense internal disagreements, for much of the twentieth century the Church acted as a powerful social, cultural, and political force for shaping attitudes towards sex and morality, particularly in the years before the expansion of state welfare.

    Up until the late 1970s, British experts, policymakers, and campaigning groups generally wanted to know the opinions of the Established Church on sexual issues. They took its ideas seriously, and were willing to be guided by its views at least to some extent. In this period, the Church’s views on sex were led by its moral welfare organisations, which were designated as a centre for research, education, and expertise about sexual relationships, both on behalf of the Church and of the nation. These groups were frequently at the forefront of sexual and social changes in Britain—they made proactive moves to influence the attitudes of the Church, the state, and society by popularising new understandings of sex and desire and outlining up-to-date Christian approaches towards responsible, autonomous, sexual citizenship.

    Perhaps less surprisingly, Sexuality and the Church of England, 1918–1980 also uncovers a long and complicated history of Anglican disagreements and difficulties in decision-making about issues of sexuality, leading up to the beginnings of the Church’s contemporary impasse. In doing so, it points towards some of the underlying reasons why these divisions have proved so difficult for successive generations of Anglican thinkers to resolve. Historically speaking, disputes and tensions were built-in to the very nature of Anglican sexual politics. As Geoffrey Fisher, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1945–61, put it, “in the Church of England and throughout the Anglican Communion we jealously guard the freedom of people to have their own opinion and express it”.

    For this reason, questions of sexual morality were not regarded as definite issues on which the Church could speak with one voice or formulate an official policy. Instead, the Church sought to function as an agent of mediation and compromise in contentious debates about sexuality. Due to its deep-seated awareness of the intensity of disagreements existing both inside and outside of its membership, the Church consistently found ways to reconcile conflicting viewpoints and build towards a consensus broad enough to unite Anglicans across a range of churchmanship.

    Up until the furore over the Gloucester report, the Church’s historically established technique of mediation had worked well and allowed it to construct compromises and mid-positions on issues of sex and relationships. But, by the late-twentieth century, Anglican viewpoints had polarised and become entrenched. This presented new challenges for the Church, which it struggled to overcome. Previously, the Church’s national legislative assemblies had not been considered an essential forum for the discussion of sexual issues, but now these spaces were transformed into a key site of deliberation and confrontation. This development meant that, while the Church had previously experienced greater room to act flexibly and hold together a range of conflicting perspectives, it was now increasingly pushed towards committing itself to more definite pronouncements about sex and morality.

    By the late-twentieth century, the Church’s former ability to construct mid-positions and accommodate a range of perspectives (even at the cost of producing some quite ambiguous statements about sexuality) was increasingly constrained. Previously, there had been at least an implicit acceptance of the Church’s role as an agent of compromise and mediation, even if the intricacies of Church policymaking were not fully understood by the general public, campaigners, or even some Anglicans, who occasionally wrote to Church leaders requesting greater clarity on matters of Christian sex teaching. For much of the twentieth century, such complaints caused few problems and could usually be assuaged with a brief explanation about the complexity of Church viewpoints. As Michael Ramsey, Archbishop of York (1956–61, later, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1961–74) explained to one correspondent, it was not possible or desirable to “formalise” ecclesiastical support about sexual issues “on which the Church, as such, has not, and cannot have, an official line”.

    Yet, by the late 1970s, with the escalation of internal splits and the rise of a new cultural climate that increasingly demanded more precise and committed approaches towards issues of sexual identity and relationships, Church leaders struggled to present vague, diverse, or undecided Anglican approaches in the ways they had done previously. The situation was further exacerbated by the intense media publicity surrounding the Gloucester report, with internal and external critics applying increasing pressure to settle the conflict by picking just one side of the argument. But this was completely at odds with the Church’s established means of operating by holding opposing views in tension and seeking to avoid further polarisation of attitudes. `

    After the 1981 Synod debate, Church strategy faltered quite dramatically. For some internal critics, the Gloucester report had conceded too much ground to the so-called “propaganda” of gay activists. These commentators criticised the Gloucester report’s re-reading of Scripture and tradition and firmly argued that the Church should not change its sex teaching to suit contemporary mores. Meanwhile, the Church was also increasingly criticised by gay campaigning organisations who had once considered the Church a powerful ally. While these groups had previously looked to secure Church support for their campaigning initiatives, they now hit back by publicly attacking the Gloucester report’s views as “patronising,” “woefully misinformed,” and lacking in “faith, hope and charity”.

    Even though the Church remained committed to its historically established strategies of reconciliation, the intensification of internal splits and skirmishes between moral campaigners and gay rights organisations only served to attract negative publicity, and the Church lost control of its former ability to contribute to national debates about sexuality. In turn, the Church became a target of critics and lobbyists who could no longer comprehend its apparent inability to move forward decisively. With that, the Church’s former means of operating as an agent of compromise and consensus was largely forgotten and its long tradition of thinking flexibly about issues of sexuality (even when this inevitably involved a challenging and painful process of reconciling conflicting perspectives) became lost to history.

  • Love Came Down at Christmas – For Some

    by Diarmaid MacCulloch, Emeritus Professor of the History of the Church in the University of Oxford; his book Sex and the Church: a History, is scheduled for publication in Autumn 2024

    Picture credit: Barry Jones

    Western society’s acceptance of homosexuality as one accepted variant in social relationships has been a breathtakingly fast process in comparison with most societal changes: it has been contained within my still not excessively venerable lifetime. Not surprisingly, the transformation has left some folk behind, for a variety of reasons, particularly those Christians for whom it disturbs particular views of biblical or ecclesiastical authority. It is easy for those who have got beyond such preoccupations to mock or belittle them, without realising the unexpressed depths of such negative feelings. Often that is because we (and they) do not know enough about the Christian past and what it contains. Here is one little story about the history of the Christian West and its homophobia.

    ‘Homosexuality’ is a very recently-coined word, the invention of a mid-nineteenth German/Hungarian journalist Károly Mária Kertbeny to describe what he regarded as a medically-defined behavioural disorder (another such disorder he named ‘heterosexuality’). While Kertbeny’s science now looks, well, mid-nineteenth century, his coinages have persisted to our own time when other nineteenth-century attempted word-inventions have fallen by the wayside; they have become central to some of the most bitterly-fought disputes in Christian Churches.

    Previously, the main Western Latin word for a variety of unusual sexual activities, some of which were between people of the same sex, was ‘sodomy’, a medieval coinage with an Old Testament reference. The word sodomia was popularised in the eleventh century by the reforming monk Peter Damian in his polemic ‘Book of Gomorrah’ (Liber Gomorrhianus). It was an inescapably negative theological term, on the analogy of the older Latin word blasphemia; thus Peter paired ‘sodomy’ with the sin of denying God, in the process ‘thinning and condensing’ the wrongdoing of the ill-fated biblical city of Sodom from malpractices that were originally much more various.

    Ivo Bishop of Chartres, Damian’s contemporary and the major influence on Western Christian canon law in his time, evolved the concept of ‘sins against nature’, in which same-sex acts were ‘always unlawful and beyond doubt more shameful than to sin by a natural use in fornication and adultery’; at least fornication and adultery were not active obstacles to the continuation of the species. All this marched in step with the developing Western Christian doctrine that marriage must necessarily involve the potential for reproductive sex. Any obstacle to reproduction was ‘against nature’, so the same acts committed between men and women, or solo masturbation, fell into the same category of sodomy.

    Most bizarre and extra-biblical of Western Christian claims about ‘sodomy’ was that the baby Jesus killed all sodomites, simply by being born in Bethlehem; he would not come into a world where there were people doing things ‘against nature’. This story is to be found in a couple of standard texts read or heard by the devout throughout the medieval West, and medieval England in particular. First was the thirteenth-century Latin anthology of saints’ lives by Archbishop Jacobus de Voragine known as The Golden Legend. Second was the Festial, a fourteenth-century compilation of vernacular sermons for English parish priests to use throughout the liturgical year, by an Augustinian Canon John Mirk, who drew much of his material from de Voragine. They cited authorities from the Early Church for their malevolent fable – Jerome and Augustine of Hippo – which is good evidence that it started life in learned and clerical circles before moving out to instruct the wider public.

    Distorting a remark in a sermon attributed to Augustine of Hippo, de Voragine and those echoing him claimed that at the birth of Christ all the ‘sodomites’ in the world had suddenly died, as committing ‘sins against kind’ [nature]. Christ delayed entering the world till they had all gone. Yet evidently this mass Christmas extinction proved not to be permanent, needing continuing vigilance from all right-thinking people. As I have explored the history of sex, gender and the family over two millennia of Christian history, I have noticed how casually medieval Westerners would allude to the Christmas sodomite massacre in writing about other spiritual matters. Moreover, the story has not been forgotten. The more unpleasant corners of the Internet persist in gleefully reminding the right-thinking of medieval Christ’s view of sodomy by repeating the tale, though anachronistically relating it to that nineteenth-century word ‘homosexuals’. I will not dignify such Internet sites by naming them, but if you want to try it for yourself, have a go at Googling ‘Christmas all sodomites died’.

    This is what modern Christians are up against as we struggle to come to a balanced view of how to deal with developments in sexuality over the last three hundred years: a background of fear and hatred based on clerical paranoia in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. We can do better than that, surely? Or we may have to order a new set of Christmas card designs.

     

    Further reading: M.D. Jordan, The Invention of Sodomy in Christian Theology (Chicago, 1997), from whom comes that useful phrase ‘thinning and condensing’. For the original texts: R.W. Granger (ed. and tr.), Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: readings on the saints (Princeton NJ, 2012), legend no. 6. The Birth of our Lord Jesus Christ), citing Jerome as well as Augustine; S. Powell (ed.), John Mirk’s Festial (Early English Text Society 334-35, 2009, 2011), sermon no. 6, Nativity of Christ, citing Augustine.

     

  • The ‘Trans’ Body of Jesus and Transgressive Theologies

    The ‘Trans’ Body of Jesus and Transgressive Theologies

    by Penelope Doe, University of Exeter, who has just completed a PhD thesis on Church reports on sexuality and the ‘Queer Art of Failure’ 

    There was a lot of manufactured outrage recently, both in the mainstream press and on social media, about a visiting preacher at Trinity College Cambridge – Dr Joshua Heath – claiming that Jesus was trans, and the Dean then defending the sermon. Spoiler: neither said that Jesus was trans. What really happened, for those who have managed to avoid the brouhaha, is that Dr Heath’s sermon used mediaeval and Renaissance art depicting Christ’s side wound to suggest that His body is simultaneously masculine and feminine, since the wound can be figured as a vaginal tunnel through which the Church (the Body of Christ) is birthed.

    This imagery may be shocking, but it is hardly innovative. The trope of Christ’s wound as both vagina and lactating breast, in theology and art, goes back to the Middle Ages. If you google ’Jesus’s vagina’, you will see some exemplary images, although, as several women were keen to point out after this latest uproar, what is being depicted is a vulva rather than a vagina!

    One thing that struck me about this latest ‘the Church of England is heretical’ scandal is not the unfamiliarity of the media (and of some Christian commentators) with fairly arcane mediaeval art and mysticism, but the horror being expressed that Christ’s body might be trans or non-binary by being neither male nor female, masculine nor feminine. There was a similar backlash when, in a sermon delivered ten years ago, Paul Oestreicher suggested that Jesus might have been gay. Worshippers and secularists alike are habitually repulsed by an unmanned Jesus. For me, all this suggests that the Church – and cultural Christianity – has capitulated not only to white Jesus, but to cis heteronormative Jesus, a straight male saviour rather than a human one, and that in turn raises the question of whether heterosexual and cisgender identities have themselves become idols.

    Why is the concept of a trans or a gay Jesus so offensive to contemporary sensibilities, ostensibly seared by secularism and post modernity? I think there are quite a few answers to this question. One is that Christians have apparently lost the playful and imaginative approach to scripture and tradition that was evident in the early Church and in the Middle Ages. Post-Reformation tradition seems, generally, to be a much sterner and more humourless affair. Another is that, even for secularists and cultural Christians (perhaps especially for these), a transgressive Jesus who disrupts cherished, if unacknowledged, norms is too disturbing a figure. For some theologians and historians, however, gay/bi/trans Jesus is incongruous not because this troubles the mores of contemporary discourse but because it imposes current cultural identities on a first-century Palestinian who was born and died in the Greco-Roman empire. Furthermore, as the theologian Linn Marie Tonstad has argued, this insistence that Jesus must have a sexual and gender identity actually ‘unqueers’ our understanding of Jesus, if the incarnation requires Him to be depicted with ‘healthy’ sexual impulses.

    One way of rescuing the trans/gressive Jesus from the coils of modern identity politics is by adopting a lens which either He or the writer of Matthew’s gospel chose, that of the eunuch: in Matthew 19:12,

    For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by others, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.

    In Putting Jesus in His Place, Halvor Moxnes argues that both the Church Fathers and modern commentators have ignored or suppressed the implication that ‘eunuch’ was an insult thrown at Jesus that he himself then appropriated to describe his and his followers’ ‘place’, much as LGBTIQ+ people today have adopted the term queer, formerly used as a slur. In reality, those who were made eunuchs were disadvantaged socially, although many held prominent and confidential positions as servants, as we see in the Ethiopian eunuch who is a court official in Acts 8:27. Occupying both male and female space in the household, eunuchs were the objects of both trust and suspicion. They were useful in that they could not establish their own households, so that they were dependent on their masters; some eunuchs were valued as sexual partners. Reading the eunuch as a figure of chastity and continence is another misstep the Church has made in making Jesus’ words in Matthew 19 into an appeal to an ascetic Christian ideal. While eunuchs were not able to procreate, some were capable of and celebrated for their sexual prowess.

    Moxnes argues that this virile understanding of continence erases that ‘queer space’ that Jesus claims from those who were criticising him for abandoning conventional male space and thereby embracing ambiguity. Why were they ‘eunuchs’? Because, although male, they were no longer ‘men’, since to be a man was a status of honour, a status which could be achieved but which could also be lost. Rather than being seen as a positive ideal – the virile contest for celibacy – Moxnes sees Jesus as identifying with the slander and putting himself and his followers alongside other marginalised and ambiguous groups who are included in the Kingdom, such as tax collectors and prostitutes. He writes:

    Eunuchs were men who were permanently out of place, in a liminal position where there was no possibility of integration into the order of masculinity …  I suggest that the modern term that can best provide a lens for viewing the material and a category of interpretation is that of ‘queer’. This is in contrast to suggestions that Jesus could be understood by means of categories like feminine or gay. These would be categories that once more attempted to view Jesus in terms of a fixed identity, as feminine in contrast to masculine, or gay in contrast to heterosexual. ‘Queer’, on the other hand, does not indicate another category. Rather, it signals a protest against fixed categories. As a protest or opposition to fixed categories of identity, it points out that all categories are historically and socially constructed, and that human experiences are forced into these categories.

    If all identities are historically and socially constructed, as Moxnes claims, then the traditions which the Church (and the secular media) lay claim to are more unstable than is generally admitted. Few ecclesial traditions are unambiguously 2000 years old, and the figure of a transgressive and liminal saviour is deeply rooted in scripture and theology. But these are traditions which the Church seems to have neglected, so that a trans Jesus is now perceived as improperly, rather than properly, shocking. If the Church of England is to have a grown-up conversation about gender and sexuality – a conversation which the Living in Love and Faith resources promised – it seems to me that we need to some smash some modernist cis heteronormative idols, recover some neglected traditions, and lose our squeamishness about sexually transgressive and genderqueer theologies.

     

    References

    Halvor Moxnes, Putting Jesus in His Place: A Radical Vision of Household and Kingdom (Louisville, KT: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003).

    Linn Marie Tonstad, “The Limits of Inclusion: Queer Theology and its Others”, Theology and Sexuality, 21, no. 1 (2015).