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Tag: inclusion

  • Where’s My Bishop?

    by the Revd Robert Thompson, Vicar St Mary’s, Kilburn & St James’, West Hampstead; host of Open Table, London; from 2021-26, member of General Synod

    “Your Father who sees in secret…” (Matthew 6.4)

    The gospels record Jesus speaking often about the relationship between the hidden life and the public life. Again and again Jesus calls the disciples towards integrity, where what is true before God increasingly becomes visible in the way we live before one another. “Your Father who sees in secret…” is not an invitation to secrecy, but a reminder that the God who knows us most deeply also calls us to become people of truth.

    General Synod has its own discipline of accountability. Our debates are public and preserved on YouTube. Our speeches are public. Our votes are public. Then, a week or so after each meeting of Synod finishes, for every vote where a formal count has been requested, a list of who voted for, who voted against and who abstained is also made public. That is not an administrative detail but a substantive expression of accountability. Those of us entrusted with teaching and governing the Church exercise that ministry publicly and we are answerable to the Church we serve.

    For the July 2026 Synod, the lists of those who voted and in what way were published on 23 July. Helen King brought to Synod a Private Members’ Motion on the Christian dignity of those of us who are LGBTQIA+ followers of Jesus Christ, and the defeat of this motion, as amended, by a mere three votes in the House of Bishops has already attracted criticism. The voting patterns of our bishops have especially caused much criticism. People have been asking, “How did my bishop vote?” And now it is possible to see.

    Here, however, I want to focus not simply on how bishops voted, but on what the votes reveal about the Church and the episcopacy itself.

    For seven years the Living in Love and Faith process has invited the Church to “walk together”. We have listened to one another’s stories. We have studied Scripture. We have repented of the harm caused to LGBTQIA+ people. We have created the Prayers of Love and Faith, and allowed them to be used with same-sex couples in existing church services. Like the Syrophoenician woman (Mark 7.24–30), many LGBTQIA+ Christians feel they are invited to be grateful for crumbs rather than welcomed to the table itself. The Prayers of Love and Faith have brought real pastoral good. Yet many still experience them not as full recognition but as permission to gather the crumbs which are left over. Ordinands and clergy in relationships, civil partnerships and same-sex marriages still live with uncertainty, and the Church remains unable to articulate a settled pastoral vision, let alone a theological one. This debate was therefore about much more than sexuality.

    The first amendment to Helen King’s motion, proposed by Jamie Harrison, restated where we are after the February vote to set up another working group and would largely have continued the present post-LLF process as one not too dissimilar to that which we have experienced in those last seven years. But Synod declined that route.

    The debate then moved to Christopher Dalliston’s amendment. Helen King has described that amendment – which she supported – and its purpose here. Where Jamie Harrison’s amendment asked whether the process should continue, Christopher Dalliston’s amendment asked a much deeper question: what kind of Church do we already believe ourselves to be? It was not primarily about sexual ethics but about ecclesiology. Christopher invited Synod to affirm that all baptised, believing and faithful people, regardless of sexual orientation, are full members of the Body of Christ; to delight in the lives and ministries of LGBTQIA+ people; and to recognise a legitimate range of theological conviction across the Church. This last point was a conscious attempt to respond to concerns heard from those who are not willing to affirm what the original motion, and the amendment, described as “committed, faithful, intimate same-sex relationships”. This amendment passed in all three Houses. Only then did the amended motion – the same wording as the Dalliston amendment – fail in the House of Bishops.

    The figures deserve careful attention. The House of Bishops has fifty-three voting places. At the time of the vote seven diocesan sees were vacant, and ‘acting bishops’ are not allowed a vote. Perhaps five bishops were unavailable because of illness, suspension or having stepped back from ministry. That left forty-one bishops who could reasonably have been expected to participate. The recorded votes were 11 in favour, 14 against, 4 abstentions, leaving twelve bishops with no recorded vote. Even allowing for two or three bishops on duty in the House of Lords on that day, and one who may be on sabbatical before taking up his appointment, nearly a fifth of those who might reasonably have participated left no recorded vote. Some may have had entirely understandable reasons and perhaps will explain them to those in their diocese. But the numbers still matter, when the difference between those in favour and those against was a mere 3 votes.

    For LGBTQIA+ Anglicans these debates are not abstract constitutional exercises. They concern our relationships, vocations, ministries and families. As a gay priest, I found this high number of non-recorded votes deeply sobering. Not because I presume to know anyone’s motives, but because when questions touch the heart of your vocation, the absence of a recorded position is itself something you notice. Episcopal leadership is also about being willing to be counted. Yet I suspect that observation only scratches the surface. The more interesting question is this: what do we and our bishops believe episcopacy is for?

    One result prompted particularly searching conversations among LGBTQIA+ clergy. Sarah Mullally, the Archbishop of Canterbury, voted against the amended motion. That surprised many queer colleagues because it sat in tension with the pastoral experience some of us have had of Sarah’s ministry. I have no wish to speculate about the reasons. But the contrast raises an important theological question. Do we and do bishops sometimes believe that the office they hold necessarily requires a distinction between the convictions they carry pastorally and the positions they feel able to express publicly?

    Before Synod began, I wrote on behalf of colleagues about the presence at York of campaigning organisations whose activities many LGBTQIA+ members and allies experienced as hostile. My concern was never about silencing disagreement. It was about creating the conditions in which the whole Church could genuinely discern together. In their written response, Sarah Mullally, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Stephen Cottrell, the Archbishop of York, agreed that the exhibition stall should not be permitted, while allowing the associated fringe meeting to proceed. The distinction rested on one activity being public and the other being regarded as private. Yet the fringe meeting had already been advertised in the official General Synod fringe programme and published on Synod’s public website. The boundary between public and private proved far less straightforward than it first appeared. That, perhaps, is another reminder that the distinction with which this essay began is never as neat as we imagine. It is also one of the deepest responsibilities of an episkopos to help the Church discern not only where those boundaries lie, but when they have ceased to illuminate the truth and begun instead to obscure it. Perhaps that is why one of the most moving moments of this Synod came when Nicholas Chamberlain, the Bishop of Grantham, spoke publicly about his own life as a gay man. It mattered because truthfulness itself became a pastoral act. In that moment episcopal leadership was expressed not through institutional management but through honest witness.

    The Greek word episkopos means an overseer, one who watches over the Church. A bishop is not simply an institutional governor or constitutional referee. A bishop is called to discern where the Holy Spirit is leading God’s people, to teach the faith, to guard communion and to keep before the Church the horizon of the Reign of God which is both embodied and fulfilled in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Unity matters profoundly. But the purpose of episcopal ministry is not simply to preserve communion. It is to enable the Church to become more fully what, in Christ, it already is. The calling of an episkopos is not simply to keep the Church together. It is to help the Church recognise more clearly the Reign of God already breaking into the life of the world, to help the Church see that reign of justice and peace more clearly and to proclaim and embody it as Christ’s Body.

    But we and the bishops were not simply being asked to affirm the dignity of LGBTQIA+ people as an ethical question. We were being asked a theological question, to affirm what baptism already declares: that LGBTQIA+ Christians are already full members of the Body of Christ, their lives and ministries being offered as gifts to the whole Church. That is why the bishops’ response matters so much. The question before them was not simply ethical but theological. It asked whether the House of Bishops could distinguish questions of sexual ethics from the prior ecclesiological claim made in baptism.

    Earlier this year I found myself asking, ‘What kind of Church are we becoming?’ This Synod has led me to ask a related question: what kind of bishops are we forming? The two questions cannot be separated.

    Let me be clear. This is not an argument that every bishop should have voted as I would have wished. Episcopacy is not measured by agreement. It is measured by faithfulness. My question is a different one. What understanding of episcopal ministry leads so many bishops to conclude that, on one of the defining pastoral and theological questions of our generation, leaving no recorded public position is the most faithful exercise of their office?

    Jesus called his disciples not simply to preserve what already existed, but to proclaim that the Reign of God had drawn near. That remains the calling of every Christian. It surely remains the calling of every bishop.

    After seven years of Living in Love and Faith, perhaps the question is no longer simply: ‘Where’s my bishop?’

    The deeper question is this: What kind of Church do we believe Christ is calling into being—and do our bishops feel free to lead us towards it?

  • All Kinds of Minds

    by Canon Dr Phil Groves, who was a CMS Mission partner and lecturer in theology at St Philip’s Kongwa in Tanzania. He served at the Anglican Communion Office for 10 years. He has attended two Lambeth Conferences, three Primates’ Meetings and four ACCs. He has a PhD on Partnership in the Anglican Communion and is Vicar of the parishes of Cuddington and of Stone, Dinton and Hartwell. He is dyslexic and a member of the Church of England’s Neurodiversity Working Group

    If you look at the Agenda for the July General Synod, you will see that on Friday Synod will be asked to support a motion affirming neurodiversity in the life of the church. This is a day of hope.

    Our world is blessed by the diversity of thinking. If we all thought the same way we would not have had the breadth of creativity, insight, and scientific developments that shapes who we are.

    We are all part of this wonderful world of different thinking. We all have a part in a ‘neurodiverse’ world.

    Most of us have brains that work in a way that social scientists have described as ‘neurotypical’. Some of us are ‘neurodivergent’. Collectively, we are neurodiverse.

    ‘Neurodivergence is how we talk about minority ways of processing the world. Neurodivergent minds include, for example: being autistic, ADHD, dyslexic, dyspraxic; having dyscalculia, sensory processing differences, Tourettes, aphantasia, or executive functioning differences. Neurotypicality is how we talk about the majority ways of thinking’.[i]

    Archbishop Sarah is the first Archbishop of Canterbury to be open and confident about her neurodivergence – in her case, dyslexia. She has brought hope to all of us who know we are neurodivergent. In her article for the Autumn 25 edition of the Church of England Newsletter Disability Matters, she spoke of her confidence that we are all called by name by God (Isaiah 43).

    She has been speaking about this for years. In her landmark interview with Kate Griggs of Made by Dyslexia in 2021 – alongside her successor as Chief Nursing Officer and fellow dyslexic Ruth May – she talks about how we are all unique and all made in the image of God.

    Dyslexia is seen in our society as a weakness to be mitigated. When I told a bishop I was dyslexic, he offered his sympathy and offered ways I could be supported. I was offering my gifts; he was treating me as a diminished human being.

    Archbishop Sarah talks about her dyslexic strengths. Dyslexia gives her humility – there is nothing like not being able to spell to bring you down to earth. It is also her source of empathy, emotional intelligence, and her ability to listen. She notes that all these gifts come together in teambuilding. Teambuilding, or ‘connecting’, is one of six key dyslexic skills highlighted in the Made by Dyslexia research.

    As a dyslexic, she doesn’t read her sermons. When she preaches, she engages with the people in front of her, changing her language to ensure she is communicating directly – another key dyslexic skill.

    Archbishop Sarah has not got to where she is today despite her dyslexia: she is there because of it.

    This is important. I had to correct the tribute paid to Benjamin Zephaniah in the Guardian by one of his friends who said that he was a great poet despite his dyslexia. I asked him to listen again to the performance of ‘Dis Poetry’ and recognise that dyslexia was a part of him and essential to what made him great.

    However, there is a darker side. As Chief Nurse, Archbishop Sarah found herself with people who were speculating that dyslexics should be barred from nursing as they may not be accurate in record keeping. Imagine being in the room as this is being discussed. As a bishop, she heard the same question being asked about parish priests; people in the hierarchy were questioning if any dyslexic could be a successful parish priest.

    This is the reality for neurodivergent clergy and laity in the Church of England. We experience shame. We know we have gifts to bring – gifts that are intrinsic to our being – but we are shamed by being judged by things that we are not good at.

    Archbishop Sarah identifies her time on the cathedral staff at Salisbury as her most challenging time. Suddenly the accuracy of reading was considered vital and she found herself judged in a way that she had not been before. The Dean – the wonderful June Osborne – recognised her gifts and gave her the most difficult roles in building relationships in the community, and recognised that what she was good at were precisely those things needed in a bishop.

    In his excellent biography of Archbishop Sarah, Andrew Atherstone gives a very helpful summary of her sermons from that time and notes how often she preached on Jesus’ encounters with outsiders and her emphasis on relationships.[ii] This emphasis is typical of dyslexic preachers. We find in Jesus the one who does not judge us and takes away our shame.

    Shame is immensely powerful. A recent video highlights how many bright and inquisitive children enter school with an excitement to learn and find that schools value neatness, spelling, and order over creativity, excitement in learning, and passion for life. We are told we have a learning difficulty. Dyslexic adults all share stories of being shamed, often humiliated, while at school.

    The good news is that Churches are so often ‘communities of appreciation’[iii]. We welcome and engage people with all kinds of minds. It can be a challenge. The services in my churches have to provide for autistic children who value calm, consistency, and a service that does not overstimulate. Meanwhile, our children with ADHD want excitement, stimulation, and sometimes just need to run from one end of the church to the other. To welcome all requires the ability to listen to what they and their parents – who often share the same neurodivergence, even if it is undiagnosed – have to say. As a church we have to be like Jesus.

    The benefits are huge. We find that, by enabling neurodivergent people – including myself – to speak about our reality, we are welcoming so many people of all ages who find they can finally be honest about who they are and can know that they are loved and accepted.

    However, as an institution the Church of England needs to change. Neurodivergent clergy – and there are a lot of us – share stories of exclusion and humiliation. We are advised not to disclose our divergence when applying for roles and we face barriers throughout our ministry.

    When we first gathered a dyslexic clergy forum in our diocese, many of the older clergy would only come if it was absolutely confidential. When we invited the Bishop of Oxford to our meeting, they would not come. Shame and fear are hard to remove. They believed they would face discrimination and with good evidence.

    This is why Friday’s Synod motion is so important. If it is passed, dioceses will be encouraged to develop inclusive practices and policies which promote the flourishing of neurodivergent people. This will involve training for all that is led and shaped by neurodivergent people themselves. We are calling for each diocese to appoint neurodivergent people as Neurodiversity Champions and we will encourage all churches and church members to listen and respond to the experience of neurodivergent people in their specific local contexts to enable the flourishing of all.

    We know that these are all key elements of change.

    Change is not just for the church. The oppression of neurodivergent people in our society is hidden, but it is real. Ask anyone involved in prisons and they will tell you how many prisoners have dyslexia. One government paper estimates that 50% of prisoners are dyslexic. The paper is intended to shape education in prisons, but does not ask why a dyslexic person is 9 times more likely to go to prison than a neurotypical person. Compare that to the equally unjust reality that you are two to three times as likely to go to prison if you are from a UK Minority Ethnic group (Global Majority) and think about it. Changing the way we think about neurodiversity and then changing our education system could transform lives and society.

    Tim Wyatt’s recent edited collection, Archbishop Sarah Mullally: And ten urgent challenges for the Church of England, did not include neurodiversity as one of those challenges – and barely anyone noticed.

    We hope that if this Synod Motion is acted upon it will produce real and effective change, both within the Church and beyond.

    [i] See the background paper for GS 2444: Neurodiversity – definition point 3.

    [ii] Andrew Atherstone, Archbishop Sarah Mullally: A Biography

    [iii] A term used in the research underlying the Synod Motion; see the appendix to GS 2444.

  • ‘Evangelical and Inclusive’ – Renewing the Heart of the Tradition

    by David Runcorn, a convenor of the Inclusive Evangelical network and the author of Love means Love – same-sex relationships and the Bible (2020).

    A collection of studies and stories about evangelical faith and belief will be published on 28 April. Evangelical and Inclusive – a future and a hope is significant because it is written by evangelicals who support the full inclusion of LGBTQ+ people and their relationships in the life of the church. Their purpose is more than a revisiting of the familiar arguments. For the Inclusive Evangelicals (IE) network the present conflicts are laying bare the need for a renewal of evangelical belief and identity and set the debates within the wider picture of evangelical history and its development.

    The book is not a manifesto, campaign statement or systematic study of faith and doctrine. It is telling a story that is still in the making. The approach is broad. Chapters trace the history and development of this tradition, including its global context. The relationship of faith, culture and mission is explored. Issues of scripture and doctrine are illustrated, for example, through a discussion of the theology of the atonement – so central to evangelical faith.

    ‘But are they really evangelical?’

     The book starts with a very familiar question in the evangelical world. ‘If there’s one thing that defines evangelicals’, writes Mark Vasey Saunders, ‘it’s holding strong opinions over who is and isn’t an evangelical!’ This has painful relevance for the growing number of evangelicals who hold inclusive convictions. We are often told we are not (or are no longer) real evangelicals.

    The evangelical wing of the church has grown remarkably over the last fifty years. In the Church of England its influence now extends to all aspects of its life and leadership. There are good gifts in this. However, over the same period, the oversight of its extensive organizations, networks and resources has increasingly fallen under the leadership of its more conservative wing. That is why, in the current debates, the loudest voices from this part of the church have been strongly conservative ones. This gives a misleading impression of what has always been a diverse and developing faith.

    The Church of England Evangelical Council (CEEC) was founded by John Stott in 1960 to represent and co-ordinate the varied expressions of Anglican evangelicalism. However, in 2014 the CEEC changed its constitution to require members to specifically affirm male-female marriage as God’s ‘unchangeable standard’. The evangelical group on the Church of England’s General Synod and Diocesan Evangelical Fellowships fell in line, along with other groups and organisations. This immediately excluded many who call themselves evangelicals by any historic understanding of the name, but who hold inclusive convictions on sexuality. Theological discussion became narrowed. As well as drawing in the boundaries of membership, the change made a certain belief on human sexuality the test of Christian orthodoxy – something completely unknown in the Bible and the historic creeds and councils of the church. We have now reached the point where the deciding factor in almost every decision or appointment in the church is being determined by declared views on this issue.

    The rapid growth of the IE network after its launch two years ago made clear what we already knew – that there is a significant presence within evangelical churches of those with more open convictions, a desire for more exploratory understanding, and a more hospitable and open expression of a faith which had become too centred on the hard binary lines of evangelical/liberal, biblical/unbiblical, right/wrong.

    All of which means that the CEEC (and the related ‘Alliance’ network) cannot claim to be faithfully representing this historic tradition and its life in today’s church. 

    Evangelicals and the Bible

    The debates over sexuality have been challenging evangelicals to re-visit their understanding of how the Bible speaks to us today. The commitment to the scriptures as our unique authority and guide does not mean that views have never changed, nor that our understanding of what is taught there has not developed. Within our tradition, the unsettling process of re-examining, repenting and re-interpreting even long-unquestioned Biblical convictions, under the compelling of the Spirit and in the light of contemporary questions, is a familiar task. Indeed, our own understanding of scripture requires it. Unless we are willing to do this, we risk only reading the Bible in a kind of ancient time warp. Faith becomes inflexible, dogmatic and unable to respond to new contexts.

    Our twenty-first-century church is facing this challenge as we explore the gift of human identity and relationships. Specifically, we need a hermeneutic with which to translate ancient texts, conditions and concepts into the challenges faced in contemporary life. An example is the repeated claim made by those arguing for a traditional understanding of marriage, that the creation story in Genesis chapter two is a ‘definition of marriage’. This imposes on the text of a richly poetic, ancient wisdom story a very modern and quite literal meaning. To claim we read here God’s definite, eternal, universal ordering of human belonging and relating is to fail to attend to the literature before us, and therefore prevents us from faithfully discerning what story is actually being told, then and now.

    Women and Men

    The evangelical world has yet to become a place where women are fully respected and treated unambiguously as equals. ‘The distrust of women’s voices is hard baked into many women’s experience of evangelicalism’, writes Kate Massey in her chapter, Being a woman and evangelical. By contrast, inclusive evangelicals are committed to offering spaces of mutual welcome where, as Kate writes, ‘we practise and develop more equal ways of engaging with one another, thus hearing and better appreciating one another’s struggles and receiving one another’s wisdom’.  (1)

    In his careful critique of the issues raised by the recent abuse scandals that have unsettled the evangelical world (and beyond), Paul Roberts outlines important challenges to male identity and approaches to leadership in what remains a heavily man-centred tradition. He is concerned at the non-consultative style that presently characterises the leadership of parts of this tradition. By contrast, IEs ‘affirm modes of Christian leadership and management of power based on a New Testament model, that is collegial, consultative, diverse and accountable. The inclusion of a diversity of leadership voices, irrespective of sex or sexuality, is crucial in expressing this model in the present day in order to make the church a safer place.’

    Unity and Conflict

    Simon Butler came out fully as gay in a speech in General Synod. For some years he held one of the most senior roles there – an election he accepted ‘to try to keep the Church of England honest about its sexuality in its senior places’. The sexuality debates there changed him. ‘While evangelicals were arguing about ‘first order’ and ‘second order’ issues,’ he writes, ‘I found myself believing more and more that the unity of the church was the central biblical issue at stake. To deny that unity, to refuse to accept a fellow disciple, is a fundamental and grievous sin’. Nikki Groarke agrees. She describes her experience of managing deep conflicts in Synod and in her ministry as an Archdeacon. She challenges the language of ‘fighting for a cause rather than collaboration’, and the extensive use of emotive videos, letter campaigns and threats to withhold money. She calls her present position ‘optimism with a broken heart’ (Nick Cave). The pain of standing in the midst of this disagreement is deep and costly. Inclusive Evangelicals have a high view of unity. We seek to walk alongside, not apart from, those who disagree with us. The gospel teaches us this is not an issue over which to divide.

    Good fruit

    The most significant, challenging and hopeful voices in the book are from those within the LGBTQ+ community.

    A number of writers share their journeys as gay, lesbian or transgender Christians in the evangelical church. The stories of shaming, excluding and harming make for painful and challenging reading, but their message contains remarkable calls to faith.  

    Baptist minister Rachel Humphrey calls her chapter, How being Gay made me a better evangelical. She insists that LGBTQ+ Christians have grown in faith even through adversity and exclusion. ‘When banned from the worship group, or from praying in public, we continued to worship and in that process we discovered that God was with us in this place too, and thus our faith has continued to grow and develop and mature. My faith isn’t the same as it used to be before I came out. It’s better. By every measure people might use – integrity, confidence, mental well-being, effectiveness in getting things done – it’s more meaningful, more honest, more scriptural, and – more evangelical.’ She insists that evangelical churches are the poorer for excluding the gifts, wisdom and faith of these fellow disciples of Christ. Of course this is so, for in the body of Christ ‘the eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you!”’ (1 Corinthians 12.21).

     In Good Fruit Alex Huzzey shares stories of inclusive churches that are growing and flourishing despite opposition and without the benefit of the support and resources readily available within (conservative-led) evangelical networks. ‘In the last few years, a new generation of LGBTQ+ inclusive churches has emerged, retaining recognizably evangelical and charismatic approaches to scripture, worship and evangelism, and most importantly thriving on it.’

    Here is a vision for the renewal of a gifted but much conflicted tradition in the church. This book is written for Christians within the evangelical world who want to understand their own historic tradition better. We have written for those seeking to engage further with the theological and biblical basis for inclusive faith. Evangelical and Inclusive is offered in respect and friendship to evangelicals who, though disagreeing to varying degrees, are open to continuing the conversation. It is offered to those in the wider church who wish to understand better this creative, often perplexingly intransigent, yet life-giving tradition.

    It is offered in faith – for a future and a hope.

    Notes

    1. The issues are explored further in : https://www.inclusiveevangelicals.com/post/male-and-female-he-made-them-celebrating-one-humanity-equal-and-different

     

     

  • Learning and Listening: Being Inclusive

    by Kat Campion-Spall, Rector of the Bristol Harbourside Churches, and a member of General Synod

    Arriving 3 years ago in a newly formed parish, a question from a parishioner awaited me: would we consider joining Inclusive Church?

    The two parishes had just merged. One church is community-focussed, with evangelical roots, although not wanting to use that label any more, with a vocation to hospitality and welcome. The other is a city centre church with a more creative, radical edge, historically the first point of contact for seafarers arriving from all over the world. I hadn’t expected the question of Inclusive Church but, as someone personally committed to working for inclusion, I welcomed it.

    It quickly became clear that this question came with history. A pastoral situation at one of the churches over a decade previously had caused pain and division, a number of people had left the church, attempts at reconciliation seem to have been ineffective, and the bishop’s instruction to stop talking about it and move on had left unhealed wounds beneath the surface. This wouldn’t be an easy conversation. 

    Although Inclusive Church has a wide remit, the point of tension was LGBTQI+ inclusion. The PCC and congregations cover a broad spectrum. Some who actively campaign for LGBTQI+ inclusion, many quietly affirming but cautious about division, some who hold to the church’s traditional teachings on marriage. Some were particularly concerned not to leave anyone feeling excluded because of their theological position.  

    Mention of Inclusive Church seemed like a flashpoint for many and even the history of the conversation caused disagreement – some remembered a discussion and vote on IC at one church, while others felt it had never been properly explored: historic PCC minutes suggest that a conversation about whether the PCC wanted to explore joining IC concluded that there wasn’t sufficient will to pursue it. It’s likely that that discussion had been a difficult one and many had little appetite to repeat it.

    So, over the course of 2023, we went back to basics. There wasn’t a shared narrative across the two churches, so we started with each church’s history of LGBTQI+ inclusion. We followed this by sharing our own personal stories of inclusion and exclusion, to try and understand each other’s perspectives.

    In January 2024 we had a pastoral decision to make. The Prayers of Love and Faith had been commended by the House of Bishops, and one of our congregation was planning to marry his long-term partner that spring and would love us to pray for them in church. I cautiously proposed that we offer these prayers to people with a connection with the parish. I was delighted that a PCC member suggested offering them to anyone who asked, as some couples wouldn’t have this option in their own parishes, and this received broad support. The resolution was passed unopposed, and I was privileged to lead prayers for Sam and Albert that April. This also demonstrated that the PCC was overwhelmingly wanting to affirm same-sex couples, so the difficult question was how we express that and whether IC membership was the right way to do this.

    Over the course of 2024 we adopted new values for our church community: inclusive, engaged, connected, inviting, which were warmly welcomed by the PCC and congregation. At the APCM, the question came again: would the PCC consider joining Inclusive Church? With all that we had done, we still hadn’t fully explored this. So the PCC discussed how we could have this conversation well. This in itself was a difficult conversation to have. Some members felt joining IC was essential to signal our inclusivity to those outside our churches, whereas others felt our church values and offering the PLF did this sufficiently; others feared that aligning with a particular organisation might alienate people with more traditional views. It became clear that a simple debate and vote would not move us forward. We had already spent many hours of PCC meetings on this and were making little meaningful progress towards agreement. It also became clear that we had to walk towards this. However difficult it would be to make a decision, not making a decision was taking its toll too.  

    So I planned a “month of inclusion”, for the PCC and wider congregation to learn about Inclusive Church and explore ideas of inclusion in general. We invited disabled, GMH, LGBTQI+, and neurodivergent guest preachers to help us listen to voices underrepresented in our church community and leadership. Our monthly discussion group heard from members of local churches that were part of IC. I encouraged PCC members to reach out to people who saw things differently and try to understand each other. And we set aside a whole PCC meeting to learn about Inclusive Church, with a vote at the following meeting.

    For the meeting, I invited an external facilitator. We reflected together on 1 Corinthians 12, on what it means to be a diverse body and to need one another. Each person was invited to share what they had learned so far in the process. We were joined on zoom by the IC National Co-ordinator, who answered our questions. I assured the PCC that while I was in favour of joining IC, I was committed to the parish whatever the outcome of the vote, and I wanted them all to be part of the churches.

    The meeting was difficult. Some people found it upsetting. Some felt that the process was too focussed on joining Inclusive Church and wanted to hear about alternatives. Some wanted to have a fuller exploration of Biblical and theological perspectives on sexuality. Some were concerned about aligning ourselves with an external organisation we had no control over. Some, sadly, felt approaches by other PCC members had been aggressive (although I remain convinced that was no-one’s intention). Some felt that not to join IC would be letting down the next generation. Some people felt uncertain about their future in our churches. 

    I wanted everyone to feel heard, but giving everyone even 5 minutes to talk would take up another whole PCC meeting. So between PCC meetings I offered 1:1 conversations to everyone on the PCC, not to persuade but to listen to their perspective. Each PCC member was invited to write a short statement setting out their position, and these were circulated before the meeting. With the Churchwardens, I gathered the arguments we’d heard into a ‘pros and cons’ list.

    We finally came to the vote. I set out the long journey of learning and listening we had been on. I set out what would happen if we voted no, and if we voted yes – both of which were underpinned by the same ongoing commitment to inclusion that the PCC had already expressed. We agreed to receive the vote in silence. We voted, and had a clear majority in favour. And we continued our meeting to discuss the things we really wanted to be talking about as a PCC – our mission, safeguarding our children, caring for our buildings.

    At one level, little has changed. Both churches remain committed to inclusion. Each is now forming a small group to develop different areas of inclusion: one probably focusing on disability, the other on LGBTQI+ welcome, which I hope would have happened anyway.

    But a few new people have found us through the IC directory. We now partner with Christians at Pride to host a monthly service, and have joined other local Inclusive Churches to share a stand at the university Freshers’ Fair. Most importantly, the Inclusive Church logo on our website and noticeboards now stands as a specific sign of welcome to those who might otherwise presume that they were not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Winded After the Death of LLF

    by the Very Revd David Monteith, Dean of Canterbury

    Much metaphorical ink has already been spilt on the announcement from the House of Bishops of the death of Living in Love and Faith (LLF).  These reflections add nothing to that discourse but are an attempt to articulate something of what this announcement does to the likes of me as a person.  I had intellectually concluded months ago that LLF was terminally ill, but the actual death notice has a far deeper impact.

    Firstly, the document was issued about a process not about people.  It wasn’t in any way a pastoral letter to the church. I used to mark draft pastoral letters on ordinand selection conferences.  This would not have cut muster.  The same depersonalising dynamics have gone on at nearly every stage of this process.  This just doesn’t upset one or two people as Archbishop Stephen suggested. This is gut wrenching and hurtful for those of us most impacted. It seems there is need to return to a basic course in pastoral care.

    Secondly, this multiplies our shame which so many of us have and still experience as LGBT+ people in our families, churches and neighbourhoods. Dealing with internalised homophobia is often a life’s work for many of us, with the kindly welcome and acceptance by our Christian communities often being a key part of that healing. I found my life and heart constrict as I received this news once again; being told loudly and clearly that our minority lives and loves must remain marginal, hidden and uncatered-for like a vegetarian in 1980s France.

    Thirdly, I am asked to carry the public shame of this as a priest and in my case as the Dean of Canterbury.  Images of our cathedral accompany the press stories of ‘bishops do U-turns on gay blessing’ headlines. No matter what I do or say or no matter how I care or try to love others here, the iconography is clear: that LGBT+ people are never fully welcome here.  I am embarrassed and feel a deep sense of personal moral injury without even any remaining left-over crumbs to offer.

    Fourthly, the social media storms of recent days about our graffiti exhibition so often focussed on the fact that we worked with marginalised communities. This means I was ‘woke’ and what else was to be expected since I was in a gay relationship.  These vulnerable young people asked far from marginal questions; they were those all of us might ask. The haters piled in with force and now they have even more reason to pile in again. What could I say when these young folks asked me if the church excluded them? What could I honestly say?

    Fifthly, I realise that all this is so niche and of none or little concern to many people in the church, unlike for those in the wider world who mostly do not comprehend why love does not mean love.  None of my clergy colleagues have enquired as to how I am doing.  No one from the bishop’s staff on which I sit have said a word. None have even alluded to noticing that the bishops had issued their conclusions. Nothing.  We are invisible despite being present and our cares and concerns are best kept to our own little minority lives.

    Sixthly, this invisibility intensifies all the other experiences of invisibility. For example, when giving a talk and the last part of my biography is omitted; when a bishop asked me to make sure my partner was not around when certain clergy visited; when as a new Dean I didn’t get invitations from the county set because they didn’t want to invite my partner but were too polite to want to enact a social snub so didn’t invite me either. Being told directly never to mention my sexuality when dealing with visiting bishops from the Communion unless they brought it up, because many would see me as possessed. Talk about making me disappear. So many active processes, not just passive assumptions.

    Seventhly, there is little likelihood of anything improving and every likelihood of things getting much worse for LGBT+ people.  Many agree that it is now far harder for us in the church than it was 30+ years ago. The tide is turning in the world with gains in equality now being questioned and many, including me, are fearful that what we see with far-right parties elsewhere, we may see here too. From early in ministry, I learnt to respect bishops but not to trust them.  I couldn’t begin to make a list of the broken promises and quiet assurances that ‘all will be well’. When the chips are down for the church, both the institution and her leaders find us an easy victim to hurt in playing out politics of so-called normality. Why else was my sexuality highlighted when I was trying to uphold safeguarding during the departure of the last archbishop?  I don’t think we can trust the church to defend us if such a terrible day came. We would not justify care.

    Eighthly, I have bent over backwards over the years to be gracious and kind, to not walk away from the table, to become vulnerable in sharing my self in conversations and dialogue.  I have listened to those of a conservative view with grace.  I have watched them behave despicably in meetings, soaking up their violence against me and mine and so often with an annoying smile. Following Archbishop Rowan’s insight, I remember that unity is the quest which keeps on asking ‘who is not here?’ rather than ‘you do or do not belong’.  But it is exhausting and sapping of limited energies. Non-reciprocation of generosity breaks the relationship and yet apparently it is me bringing disunity to the church?

    Ninthly, many of us simply slog our guts out day in day out. This news has winded me and made me see that no significant change is likely in my life span. The sense of being an ‘alien in the household of God’ grows. As a Dean I spend a lot of energy on taking care not to demoralise our teams, despite the challenges, and to look forward hopefully.  There is no hope for significant change in the C of E with respect to LGBT+ people yet many of us are stuck having given our life to this ministry yet not being able to afford to retire nor having the heart to abandon our sense of calling.  Pay us all off to get rid of us and I may just rethink, if that is really where you want to head! Why, if you really do think that we are living without true repentance and are unworthy of blessings, do you not just get rid of us as that is the conclusion of the logic now received in this settled view ?

    Tenthly and finally, this is akin to a bereavement with all the usual feelings and thoughts.  I have no idea what to grieve well looks like in this situation. Of course, I can rely on the church and the bishops not to provide me with any assistance on that. In one theory of bereavement, key to recovery is to invest in the new future beyond the loss. The problem for me is that no new future is articulated in any way for LGBT+ people.  That which was perhaps previously imagined is killed off. The hollow words of apology never came to anything. Micro aggressions and visceral fear and anger continue to be experienced by us. The new Christian Inclusion is but fantasy. Apparently, as the bullies of old told me in school, I am to take it on the chin ‘like a man’ (clearly a heterosexual one) and just let these acts of violence and harm keep on coming.

    Perhaps the only lasting hope might be another victim who also had to take it – that is about all that remains.

     

  • Whose Toilet Is It? A Personal Theological Reflection on Bodies and Spaces

    by Alex Clare-Young. Alex is a thinker, facilitator and writer. They are a minister, member of the Joint Public Issues Team and patron of the Open Table Network

    I am going to write about toilets. I should probably explain a few things first: I am trans and I am disabled. Both of those facts mean that I cannot use gendered toilets any more. In fact, they mean that I have lost access to an awful lot of public spaces in general.

    Anyway, back to toilets. I grew up living as female, before I transitioned, which meant that I spent 18 years of my life using a mixture of female-designated and accessible toilets. I have been attacked multiple times in single-‘sex’ toilets. Every single time it has been by a cis woman – a woman who wasn’t trans.

    It may not come as a surprise to hear that I don’t think that public toilets have ever been safe spaces.

    The context: gender and public spaces

    I don’t like the term ‘culture wars’. It implies a dynamic of equal powers battling it out with mortal consequences. It also lends a sort of unearned gravitas to the political gameplay that instrumentalises trans people. Nevertheless, I will use the term here as it is the one most often used to refer to the situation we find ourselves in.

    Trans people have been the game-pieces of culture wars for some time. We have been banned from bathrooms in various USA states for over a decade. This has extended to the separation of gender-nonconforming children and young people from their families and a significant reduction in access to healthcare for trans people.

    In the UK, culture wars are different, with many people largely uninterested whilst those on the margins find themselves pushed increasingly farther out of the rapidly-shrinking middle ground. Recently, this has been particularly apparent in three areas: 1) horrific clashes over the housing of human beings who are seeking asylum in local hotels, 2) the provision of vital benefits to human beings who happen to be disabled and 3) the presence of human beings who happen to be trans in public spaces. So as a disabled trans person things are increasingly difficult.

    The EHRC Guidance

    The particularly challenging piece of this current phase of the UK’s Americanesque journey, for me, is caused by corporate and local responses to the EHRC interim guidance on gender and the Equality Act. The guidance effectively states that trans people may not use the gendered space that accords with their gender identity and should not use the gendered space that accords with their gender identity if this is likely to cause concern.

    That means that many trans people are left unable to use gendered public spaces – including public toilets – at all. The EHRC’s way of handling that has been to suggest that premises should ensure gender neutral toilets are available. This is not only unhelpful, it is a mishandling of the Act which requires the necessity of any exclusion based on protected characteristics to be rigorously proven – it has to be a proportionate means of achieving a legitimate aim. This means that it needs to be the least discriminatory way to meet that aim.

    The myth of the accessible toilet

    Now I’m going to take off my trans hat and put on my disabled one (I wish I could effect this switch, in both directions, in real life). Since becoming a full-time wheelchair user, I now have to use the accessible toilet at all times. The thing is, accessible toilets are already kind of a unicorn.

    So-called accessible toilets often have toilet roll you can’t reach, filthy floors that you wouldn’t want to wheel over (remember, many wheelchair users effectively have to touch very near the soles of our shoes with our hands for every move we make), and small-to-nonexistent turning circles crowded by overflowing bins.

    So, when I realised that several moto service stations had responded to the EHRC guidance by labelling their ‘accessible’ toilets as ‘inclusive’, I began to worry. It’s not that I don’t want trans folks to be able to use accessible loos. Of course I do. I want every trans person to feel safe, and to feel like they – we – have public spaces we can access. If those are intersectional spaces, what’s not to like.

    However, this label was not only targeting trans people. The big wheelchair on the door had been replaced with a big man symbol, a big woman symbol and a tiny little wheelchair in the bottom corner. The radar key lock had been removed. This was now just a big toilet. And there was only one.

    The more public spaces I go to, the more I realise that this has been the general response to the EHRC guidance – taking already limited space away from disabled folks and opening up accessible loos to anyone who can’t be bothered queuing. Yes, invisible disabilities exist – mine used to be one. Yes, trans people deserve toilets we can use – I am one. Yes, women are not safe in toilets – I learnt that the hard way.

    The thing is, taking away spaces is not the answer. No-one can win this so-called battle. All that we have gained is toilets that are less safe for women because anyone with a beard can access one by claiming to be a transman, accessible toilets that are predominantly used by able-bodied cis men, and a general increase in both transphobia and misogyny.

    The theology: Christ in public spaces

    So how do we reframe this woeful web of misinformation? How do we take the power out of a rapidly-escalating human rights battle? I believe that we need to unpick the underlying threads. To do this, I would like to consider three ways of looking at fair, safe and just uses of public space.

    Inclusivity

    Firstly, let’s consider what inclusivity means. An inclusive space is a space where everyone is welcome, just as they are. It is often held up as being the gold standard. And yet, inclusive spaces can be undermined by scarcity narratives. Remember when a woman poured expensive perfume on Jesus’s feet and was accused of denying the poor? No-one has been policing gendered toilets to date and trans people have been using them without causing harm. So why now? Are we, like the early disciples, playing whataboutery with Christ’s own body?

    Exclusivity

    So what about exclusivity? That seems to be the next logical move. Scarcity leads to protectionism. MY flag, MY taxes, MY spaces. You can’t have our spaces – get your own. It has seriously alarmed me to see so-called feminists arguing that the tiny minority of folks who are trans should simply create our own spaces. Last time I tried to build a public toilet without planning permission it didn’t go so well… I wonder what the un-named convert to Christianity in Acts 8 would have done if, when they asked, “Here is water, what is there to stop me being baptized?”, were given the response, “Not until you dig your own well”.

    Practicality

    I’m aware I may be using too much humour here. It’s a defence mechanism. This stuff is actually scary to me. Disabled people avoid leaving our houses due to lack of safe, sanitary, accessible public facilities, trans people are being attacked in public and often sadly losing their lives in private, and women are not any closer to real solutions to the actual causes of sexual violence in public spaces, not least the lack of any form of adequate justice.

    The only way to get through this is to stop looking for convenient scapegoats and to start helping each other. Can’t get to the soothing water? OK, I will carry you. Can’t reach Jesus? OK, this roof has to go. What’s to stop me being baptised? Nothing.

    We need to work together to create safe and accessible public spaces for trans people, disabled people and women, and that journey does not start when we attack each other. It starts by shifting the narrative. Are public toilets safe, accessible and inclusive? No. Why? Because systemic injustice and capitalist motivations have led to flimsy stalls and unsanitary spaces. Are trans people the problem? No. So how do we solve it? We build something better. Together.

    In practice: what now?

    10 hours before I wrote this, the EHRC submitted an updated code of practice to the Minister for Women and Equalities. They did not complete a full and proper public consultation and Parliament has not yet had a chance to debate the advice. The chair of the EHRC is encouraging people to preempt the process, stating that “We have been clear that service providers, associations and public functions should not wait for the code of practice to be published”. This irresponsible weaponising of legal process is what has caused the chaos I have described throughout this article.

    So firstly, please wait. If you own a space, please don’t change the rules before the rules actually exist. Secondly, please speak. Whatever happens, the draft code must be laid before Parliament for 40 days before it is in effect. Speak to your MP urgently and ask them to insist on a debate on this guidance, before it is too late. Finally, counter the misinformation. Trans people are not the problem. Women are not the problem. Disabled people are not the problem. The systems that use us as pawns are. Can we not just stop fighting and start building the solutions ourselves? Please?

  • Marriage and the Bible: It’s Complicated

    A Response to the Part Report of the Episcopal Reference Group on the Doctrine of Marriage

    by Johanna Stiebert, Professor of Hebrew Bible (University of Leeds) and co-director of The Shiloh Project

    I have been married for twenty years and have co-authored a book on marriage – but I am still awestruck at the sheer amount of preoccupation and nitty-gritty theological advice on marriage that is to be found in “A Part Report of the Episcopal Reference Group of the Faith and Order Commission: Living in Love and Faith and the Doctrine of Marriage, February 2025.”

    This interim report condenses a great deal of information into nine theses. Still, it is 16 pages long and refers and links to yet another 316-page (!) document, which is also in a state of ongoing development, namely “The Church of England’s Doctrine of Marriage: A Compendium of Sources.” Say what you like: there is no shortage of effort, consultation, discussion, or verbosity on display here.[1]

    The upshot of this word-mass, however, is, ultimately, rather underwhelming: it can be summarised as “regarding marriage, there has been continuity over a long period of time and there has been change, too. Some change has been accepted, other change has been considered, resisted and rejected.” This is not especially enlightening as far as upshots go.

    While it is admirable and important to listen and to talk about human relationships and marriage, has this exercise really been productive? Is there appetite for getting serious about inclusion? And, for all the extensive and ongoing consultation and discussion, is there still “stuff” that has not been discussed, or discussed openly, frankly, and fully enough?

    Let me, an ongoing studier of the Hebrew Bible, give my own responses in the form of nine theses – adding yet more verbiage on the matter!

    1. First, the sheer amount of ink spilled might imply that the Bible (the main source of authoritative reference for Christians) refers to “marriage” in ways copious and clear. Not so. In the Hebrew Bible (the by far larger part of the biblical canon), there is not even a word that captures English “marriage.” Instead, there is – usually rather fleeting – reference to men “taking” or “lying with” or “going in to” women. There is little about, let alone clarity concerning, marriage ritual or ceremony (i.e. weddings), or anything much either descriptive or prescriptive – that is, about what “being married” is or should be. There is nothing about marriageable age, very little that suggests consent, and consequently, very little evidence for what might pass as a “stable core to the doctrine of marriage” (p.5). It is important to be frank about what is not there in the Bible.
    1. Second, what is there, or what can be puzzled together about unions between men and women (Thesis 1), is often acutely violent. Men take women[2] following wars (e.g. Deuteronomy 21:10-14 and Judges 21:10-12, 20-23). If this is marriage, it is also rape, rather than “sexual intimacy” or “friendship” (Theses 6-7). In the Hebrew Bible husbands also get a pass for accusing their wives[3] of infidelity, in the absence of proof, and for submitting them to what looks like a gruelling public humiliation (Numbers 5:11-31). Surely, this kind of conduct in marriage would not pass as “honourable” (Thesis 3); this kind of conduct, while prescribed in the Bible, should be resisted and should fall into the category of “a need for change that has been accepted.”[4] There is blatant association in the Bible between violence and marriage. This needs to be acknowledged and resisted. 
    1. Third, marriage is idealised as “a sign of the relationship between Christ and the Church” (Thesis 4), and as “God’s explicit sanction and endorsement as a holy vocation and whole-life calling in which to serve God and neighbour, not only in creation but in the Christian dispensation also” (p.8). It is good to be aspirational and to go into a relationship, especially one aimed at joining families and raising children (Thesis 5), with resolve to be friends and loyal (Theses 7 and 9). A text like Ephesians 5:21-33, as much as it clearly suggests hierarchy in marriage (vv.23-24), and as much as this text more than any other is cited by Christian abusers in cases of spousal violence, could be made right: a Christ-like husband is not abusive but loves his wife; obedience to a Christ-like husband does not involve submission to domestic violence; marriage constitutes mutual reverence.

    Most folk, however, as much as we might aspire to high ideals, such as “permanent and lifelong” (Thesis 9) union reflecting Christ’s relationship with the Church (Thesis 4), fall short. Any one person is complicated, and two people together long-term, against the backdrop of life, with its invariable serpentines and complexities, are yet more complicated still. Many of the ideals expressed by Jesus – parting with all our wealth (Matthew 19:21), loving our enemies (Matthew 5:43-48) – are noble and wonderful but nigh to impossible to live out. This pertains to ideals of marriage, too. How many among us who are married have never committed adultery, if we include there adultery in thought or in fantasy (Matthew 5:27-29)? Indeed, existing research strongly suggests that Christian marriages are as likely to end in divorce or to feature domestic violence and abuse as marriages in the general, non-Christian population: high ideals or norms do not transpire reliably in high (or even higher) conduct. Frank acknowledgement that the report idealises Christian marriage would be welcome.

    1. Fourth: several of the theses allude to the early chapters of Genesis – most notably, Thesis 1, with its reference to one man, one woman, and one flesh, but also Thesis 2, with its reference to marriage being a “gift in creation,” and (to a lesser extent) Theses 5 and 6, which refer to children (cf. Genesis 1:28) and sexual intimacy (cf. Genesis 2:24). The report asserts that what is prescribed is “specifically exclusive, monogamous marriage that was given in creation, such that other forms of marriage – several of which are contained in the Old Testament – are a falling short of or twisting of God’s original design and good gift” (p.6).[5]

    I, for one, find it rather extraordinary and bizarre that the early Genesis chapters are used so adamantly to justify heterosexual, monogamous, sexually exclusive marriage to the exclusion of all other kinds of marriage.[6] In the end, this – albeit wonderful – text is clearly a myth, complete with a talking snake and magical trees, where a human is made from dust and a woman, after all the animals, from a rib. It is a story, moreover, that departs rather sharply from the creation story that immediately precedes it (where humans are created together, after the animals). The story of Adam and Eve is the one that, more than any other biblical text, is used to drive home what marriage is and should be.

    The report, furthermore, firmly lays claim to this story. On the one hand, there is mention that the Church of England “has always recognised the marriages not only of Christian believers but of everyone,” yet on the other, it states that “Christians, however, by virtue of divine revelation, see in the same institution of marriage more than non-Christians see: most especially the ‘one flesh’ union and the sacramental signification of Christ’s relationship with his Church” (p.7). The Jewish text from the Hebrew Bible is firmly folded into a doctrine that makes Christian marriage superior (“more than”). This teeters on the brink of supersessionism. Above all, however, the mythological text is over-invested with profundity.

    Meanwhile, other texts of the Hebrew Bible – including legal texts prescribing that raped women marry their rapists (Deuteronomy 22:28-29), or the aforementioned texts linking violence and marriage, are not mentioned much. Maybe they are simply part of the change that has been accepted? Still, more honesty about how ideology drives the selection of biblical texts that construct the marriage ideal would be desirable.

    1. Now, we all hold ideologies; moreover, interpreting the Bible in ways that speak to life and how to live it will almost invariably (consciously or unconsciously) involve ideologically-motivated selection of texts. It is entirely possible to select biblical texts that provide and emphasise quite different recommendations for marriage than those of the report’s nine theses. It is entirely possible to construct recommendations that designate the married state inferior to the single and celibate state, or that permit divorce, same-sex marriage, polyamory, or unions without children – be this by choice, or not.[7] The report mentions that the State’s definition of marriage (subsequent to marriage equality of 2014) is distinct from the definition of marriage of the Church of England. The first thesis emphasises that in the Church of England marriage is between one man and one woman. Again, their becoming “one flesh” is stressed. It is acknowledged that this one-flesh-ness can be understood “sexually, socially, and even in some sense spiritually or mystically” (p.5). Yet even if two people of the same sex join sexually, socially, spiritually and mystically, this cannot, apparently, be a marriage, or God’s gift (Thesis 2), or “an honourable estate” (Thesis 3), or a sign of Christ’s relationship with the Church (Thesis 4), or “proper” sexual intimacy (Thesis 6).

    Exactly why this might be remains unclear to me. Friendship, even intimate friendship, in the Bible can be between members of the same sex – indeed, the bond between David and Jonathan, or the devotion of Ruth to Naomi, where there are also words of promise (1 Samuel 20:42; Ruth 1:16-17; cf. Thesis 9), stand out, as does the love of Jesus for his disciple (possibly, John the son of Zebedee). Indeed, these descriptions are far more suggestive of friendship than the account of Adam and Eve (or any other man and woman of the Bible, for that matter). The report refers to friendship as “the bedrock” (p.9) of marriage. Why can’t a relationship between persons of the same sex that is one of friendship, loving, intimate, consenting, and bonded by words of promise, ever be a marriage, while Adam and Eve are paradigms of marriage even though notions of friendship or consent are not exactly explicit? There is some consideration of this in the report, some mention of narrowing the “conceptual distance” between different- and same-sex unions (p.13) but this is not reflected in the nine theses. It is, ultimately, nebulous why there is a requirement for marriage to consist of one man and one woman only.

    1. The report acknowledges both change with regard to marriage, and some degree of “ambiguity and flexibility” (p.11). It says that doctrine can “develop or change” (p.2); that (albeit modest) changes have been made to the report (p.4), and that (much more significantly) there has been “pastoral accommodation” to permit divorce and remarriage in some cases (p.10), including on account of “differing interpretations” of biblical texts (p.11). There is also mention of change towards “a more egalitarian understanding” (p.12), and to permit contraception so that a married couple can “in good conscience” delay conception by artificial means (p.13). Moreover, the report asserts a shift in emphasis towards regarding sex in marriage less in terms of preventing fornication and more in terms of mutual enjoyment (p.16). It strikes me as right and good that changes and accommodation are made as knowledge (e.g. about safe forms of contraception) is gained; it strikes me as right and good to promote egalitarian marriage and to resist unfair rigidity (e.g. concerning divorce in situations where a relationship has broken down or is damaging to one or both partners).

    Moreover, there is precedent for changing doctrine within the Bible – not only in terms of how Jesus interprets Hebrew Bible doctrine but also internal to the Hebrew Bible. Hence, in the Ten Commandments, God promises to visit the guilt of parents on their children and subsequent generations (Exodus 20:5) but in both the books of Jeremiah (31:29-30) and Ezekiel (18:2-20) there is a retraction of this, stating that people will be responsible for their own sin, not for another’s. This strikes me as a progressive change within the Bible.

    Now, just as there now exists safe contraception, and just as there is more understanding and accommodation regarding divorce (which is condemned in some biblical passages), so understanding of gender and sexuality has been transformed, particularly in recent decades. There is much fuller understanding of gender and sex as being a spectrum rather than a binary and of human sexuality as much more complex than straightforwardly heterosexual, either by “natural order” (p.7) or divine design.[8] Why, if there is understanding that some humans are emotionally, psychologically, sexually, and spiritually fulfilled loving someone of the same sex, can same-sex marriage not be among the changes?

    1. Let me develop this point further. The report states firmly that “The Church of England has always believed and taught that sex is for marriage, and marriage is for sex” (p.9). Denying same-sex loving Christians a same-sex marriage, would also then deny them sex.

    This, of course, is the crux, the point of greatest division, and it is around this that much of the report circles. Same-sex marriage and homosexuality have drawn what journalist Mark Gevisser evocatively calls a dividing “pink line” – in multiple religious traditions, in marriage and sexuality debates, right around the globe. Indeed, the Bible could legitimate both same-sex inclusion and non-binary gender – because it is a dextrous text. Hence, creation of “male and female” could refer not to either/or but to male, female and everything in between – just as “old and young” and “great and small” can refer to a spectrum of ages or statures. Queer interpretations indeed offer a myriad of inclusive readings, which celebrate eunuchs as genderqueer, and the same-sex love of David and Jonathan, the Centurion and his servant, Ruth and Naomi.

    And openness to change need not mean “anything goes.” Of course, there are bounds – one such bound must be an insistence on informed consent for sex and for marriage, for instance. For this reason, I have been among those who welcomed a recent change in UK marriage law, which raised the age for marriage to at least 18 years in every case – in recognition of the magnified scope for exploitation and compromised consent of someone even younger marrying or entering civil partnership, even with parental consent.[9] Of course, ongoing discussion, including in the light of fuller understanding and growing knowledge, is important. But the reasons for resisting change in the face of new knowledge and understanding (e.g. knowledge about the nuances of human gender and sexuality) should be strongly interrogated, lest they rely on discrimination or prejudice. After all, there are biblical texts that refer to the “holy seed” and which express strong objection to marriage between different people groups (Ezra 9:1-4; Nehemiah 13:23-27), yet prohibition of miscegenation is nowadays considered straight-out racist (and in the USA, unconstitutional). Is resistance to same-sex marriage not straight-out homophobic? And if not, why not?

    1. Ultimately, the report concludes very little. It speaks (at length) of whether the “envelope” of the Church can or should be enlarged, or whether more inclusion would tear up a “God-given institution” (p.16). This is how the report ends. The report expounds and proffers possibilities for change and inclusion – and then retracts and dashes them.
    2. This blog is called “Via Media,” “the middle road,” referring to a path between extremes. Perhaps my alternative theses seem too strident, too extreme, for a middle road. My reply would be that right now, when very many minoritized groups, including queer and same-sex loving members of the human family, are ever more vulnerable in a world where sinister political forces are emboldening the weaponization of biblical texts while efforts to advance equity, diversity and inclusion are under attack, those of us who can speak out and can (or could) marry in the Church of England, have to speak out for those who cannot.

     

    Professor Stiebert has now published a further piece on the response to this blog post, on https://shilohproject.blog/a-response-to-a-response-to-a-response-yep-its-marriage-again/ 

    [Many aspects alluded to in this piece are developed more fully in Saima Afzal and Johanna Stiebert, Marriage, Bible, Violence: Intersections and Impacts (Routledge, 2024)]

    [1] All my references to theses and pages pertain to the report.

    [2]  In Numbers 31 men take little girls (v.18) in a war depicted as divinely sanctioned (31:1-3). Surely such sexual enslavement marriage is not what Thesis 2 has in mind when referring to marriage as “God’s gift.”

    [3] In Hebrew, there is one word for woman/wife and for man/husband. Context and/or translators’ choices determine which English word is used.

    [4] Numbers 5, while one of the longest legal texts about a scenario in a marriage and how it ought to be resolved, rarely features in discussions of marriage in the Bible. I could not find reference to the passage in either the compendium or the report. To be fair, the sources cited favour Christian texts, which is fair enough. Genesis 1-3 features very prominently in the compendium in particular.

    [5] Why these other forms of marriage fall short, or why later Hebrew Bible narratives tend not to make any such deficiency explicit, is not clarified in the report.

    [6] The story of Adam and Eve is also used to condemn homosexuality, non-binary gender, transgender, polygamy, polyamory, and divorce. Preoccupation with the story and with its reference to “one flesh” is already in evidence in the New Testament (e.g. Mark 10:8; Ephesians 5:31).

    [7] The report makes clear that children are not required for marriage to be valid or meaningful. It explains that marriage is the proper context for raising children, not that raising children is the purpose of marriage (p.13).

    [8] The report refers to “men and women being ‘diverse in their emotional, mental and spiritual lives, their way of experiencing and responding to reality’” – which difference it believes is instantiated in marriage to the benefit of society. It is the core argument made in the submission to the government consultation on equal marriage in 2014: “The uniqueness of marriage – and a further aspect of its virtuous nature – is that it embodies the underlying, objective, distinctiveness of men and women” (p.14). This emphasises a binary distinction that can be and has been plausibly questioned – as is acknowledged in the report, too (p.15).

    [9] This is in reference to the UK Marriage and Civil Partnership (Minimum Age) Act 2022.

  • Behold the Men: Identifying Risks, Reconsidering Relationships

    by Rachel Starr, Director of Studies at the Queen’s Foundation for Ecumenical Theological Education, Birmingham

    Since Behold the Men was published in January, a lot of people have commented on its relevance to the present moment. Conversations about how churches interpret, encourage, even prescribe, certain models of masculinities have long been needed, but often not given the necessary attention. Today’s global realities have brought into sharper focus the problematic intersections of white power, patriarchy, colonialism and certain forms of Christianity. Yet churches are still in denial about the necessary theological work they need to do in relation to abuse, inequality and injustice.

    In an article from 2019 addressing clerical abuse in the Roman Catholic Church, Susan A. Ross observes that ‘the insights that feminist theology offers to this crisis have not received the kind of attention they deserve’ and seeks to demonstrate both that ‘many (although not all) of the issues in clergy sexual abuse are theologically grounded’ and also that ‘feminist insights can contribute to a transformed church in which ?patriarchy and clericalism no longer dominate, where there is a healthy and holistic theology of sexuality, and ?where the voices of women and the laity are truly heard’ (Ross 2019, p. 633).?

    When viewed in relation to the ongoing safeguarding crisis within many churches, the risks inherent within dominant models of masculinity are clear to see.

    Within many such models, men are considered solitary, independent figures. They are expected to be both self-centred and self-reliant rather than understanding themselves in relation to a wider community. Men are encouraged to be the answer rather than to ask questions or listen to other people’s responses. They are called on to be strong, to ignore or decry their own and others’ vulnerabilities. Men are expected to lead rather than follow, receive instruction or advice. Men in leadership face pressure to be the charismatic leader, the hero, the saviour. As I have written elsewhere, the hero is best avoided.

    As part of their formation within such dominant models of masculinity, men are asked to deny or overcome emotions – framed as signs of weakness – and focus on the rational mind. They are kept at a distance from the realities of their own – and especially others’ – bodies. In different ways, and in a variety of settings, men are seen as creators and consumers, rather than those tasked with caring or cleaning up. This can result in a lack of attentiveness to the impact of actions or decisions.

    A model of masculinity found in some men’s spirituality movements is that of the ‘wild man’. While this model is less prevalent in British churches, it is present in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. This is a model focused on individual spiritual needs, sometimes to be pursued with aggression. It invites risk-taking rather than rule-following. Another model present in some Christian traditions is the successful man, whose presence is sought and whose failings are overlooked. A third model explored in Behold the Men is the family man, often found within a ‘culture of niceness’ which can mask power and stifle challenge. All three of these models – and others beside – need to be reconsidered if churches are to become places of wellbeing for all.

    Behold the Men offers some suggestions as to how churches might begin conversations around what it might mean to be a man of faith.

    1. Beginning with bodies

    ‘In our earliest conversations about the book, we talked about the importance of the body. While we cover shared ground with some systematic theology texts, we made a conscious decision to begin not with God but with human bodies, specifically, men’s bodies. Each chapter places bodies central to the discussion: naked, earthed, displaced, broken, of and in Christ, healing, resistant, receptive, created and connected’ (Beckford and Starr 2015, p. 4).

    We hope the book will help readers to listen to their own bodies and trust the insights offered: but not to be limited by their own embodied experiences. As Brazilian feminist theologian Ivone Gebara writes, ‘I have had … to listen with my whole body to what my particular body had not experienced concretely’ (Gebara 1995, p. 129).

    1. An ongoing conversation

    Behold the Men brings together more than a dozen contributors, who offer insights from a range of contexts, identities and theological traditions. The aim of the book is not to propel the reader towards a clear conclusion. Instead, it invites readers to listen carefully to different experiences, gain fresh insight and be encouraged to find new ways forward. It is not the first book exploring masculinities within Christianity, and we hope it will not be the last.

    1. ‘We Cannot Walk Alone’

    We chose to use Birmingham artist Eddy Aigbe’s painting, ‘We Cannot Walk Alone,’ for the book cover. Originally commissioned by Celebrating Sanctuary for Refugee Week in 2021, the image seeks to convey many different people coming together to shape more inclusive, just communities. In the work of justice, the wisdom, compassion and commitment of many is needed. We hope our book will be a resource for the journey. Certainly, there is much distance for our churches to travel if they are to be places where all bodies are welcomed, respected and honoured. Challenging violent and limiting models of masculinity within churches, exploring more inclusive and healthy ways of being men of faith, is long overdue.

  • The “Failure of the Church”: Why Waiting is Not Neutral

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

    ‘Lament and repent of the failure of the Church to be welcoming to LGBTQI+ people and the harm that LGBTQI+ people have experienced and continue to experience in the life of the Church’.

    So began the motion passed by the General Synod in 2023, in relation to the LLF project. Just look at the state of it now. According to Bishop Martyn Snow, in his recent video, ‘We’re still in the process of working with LGBTQI+ people to look at what that apology really means in practice’. So far, not much.

    I am bored writing about LLF. I am sure you are bored hearing about it. And yet here we are, almost two years on from that motion, and we have moved … effectively nowhere. Yes, some prayers have been commended – which was ‘looked forward to’ in that first motion – and that was a real step forward (although, of course, it really just formalised what was already happening in many parishes). But it happened nearly a year ago now, and although the prayers have been approved as a ‘standalone service’ we are being asked to wait to use them until a ‘registration process’ has been set up. Meanwhile, there have been a love-in residential, endless variations on working groups (with precious little new output), and various half-promises made. Folk wanting some progress for LGBTQIA+ people have given of their time and energy again and again. But in terms of actual change brought about for LGBTQIA+ people, let’s be frank – since that motion, there has been effectively nothing. Zero. Nada.

    This is enough of a disgrace in itself that the endlessly dithering House of Bishops should hang their heads in shame. Yet let’s be absolutely up front and frank here – that is not the half of it. Let’s not pretend: we know that there have been votes amongst the bishops to enable clergy to enter same-sex marriages, and those of us in the process know that Archbishop Justin’s comments on sex being for marriage do indeed reflect the general position of the House and College. Against that background, though, the required withdrawal of the nasty little Issues in Human Sexuality (a withdrawal required, let us remember, all the way back in February 2023), still has not happened – which is completely unacceptable. Similarly, all those in the LLF process know that clergy same-sex marriage is a question of when and not if – such has been said to us by staff, by bishops. The idea it won’t happen is ludicrous – and if that does become the plan, then there is no benefit to dragging it out any longer. Yet still, no decision is made – and we are treated like fools, again, and again, and again.

    Indeed, forty-four bishops called for this decision to be implemented ‘without delay’ in November 2023. Funny definition of ‘without delay’, right, a year on – and with the endless can-kicking, wasted time, and – frankly – wasted vocations.

    Because this isn’t an abstract issue. We have potential ordinands, whose call has been blocked by the absolute impediment that they have fallen in love with someone and have formalised it in law. Similarly, bishops are refusing to license clergy in same-sex marriages, all in the middle of a vocations crisis and the scandal of endlessly overworked clergy. Cases from the Diocese in Europe, where some countries don’t provide the option of civil partnerships, show quite how small-minded, absurd, and nasty this policy is in practice. In some places, bishops are quite inexplicably – and viciously – refusing to license lay people in civil marriages to people of the same sex or gender too. Even Issues in Human Sexuality didn’t go that far.

    So we clergy can pray prayers of blessing for others in such relationships but not enter into them ourselves? Similarly, clergy from other provinces of the Anglican Communion in same-sex marriages cannot minister in the Church of England, but clergy from these provinces who have celebrated such a marriage can? What a load of ecclesiological – and queerphobic – nonsense that is. The whole thing is a rotting ulcer at the heart of our church’s polity – and still, nothing is done. Where is the courage? Where, frankly, is our pastoral heart? How long, O Lord? Why is it that we are so expendable – so worthless – so detested? We asked for bread, were promised a stone – and even that is still withheld.

    The truth is, though, that there has been work done, ‘progress’ on LLF – it’s just that this work has nothing whatsoever to do with LGBTQIA people. LLF is no longer about them – about us. It is about those, a small but rich and powerful minority, who wish to exclude them from parts of church life based on their sexual orientation. It has become yet another tool of the powerful over the vulnerable. Just like Jesus always wanted.

    This is not new. Those who ‘couldn’t accept’ the ordination of women as priests and deacons got a nice pay-off as they swam the Tiber. In today’s arguments over other people using prayers and other people getting married, once again the sole focus has been on those who oppose the majority position. Look back over the reams of papers, debates, and ‘solutions’ suggested for our current predicament – how many of them actually mention, let alone prioritise, LGBTQIA people? Hint: not many.

    Those of us in favour of LGBTQIA inclusion seem to be bending over backwards to ensure those who think we aren’t even Christians should be given absolutely everything they claim they need so that they are not stained by our queerness. Adverts from inclusive churches speak of the need for ‘support’ for those who feel ‘disappointment, discomfort, or distress’ about the use of the Prayers of Love and Faith. While it’s surely good that PCCs are discussing where they stand on their use, and complete honesty about this will help people decide whether a church is for them or not, it’s all very one-sided. Meanwhile, there is precisely nothing about the actual LGBTQIA people about whom this project was supposed to be.

    The entire project has become disproportionate without ever moving anywhere near the ‘radical new inclusion’ promised at the outset. All we are doing now is yielding to threat upon threat from the ‘Alliance’, which has a much louder bark than its bite, and in the process chucking more and more LGTBQIA people onto the pile that says: ‘not important enough’. We appear willing to be agents of injustice to protect the powerful who now claim they are being oppressed. It would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic.

    Christians and their churches are known by how they treat their weakest members. Jesus said something about that somewhere. The Church of England is standing at a precipice where it must decide whether it really wants to be known for creating a system that looks after the privileged, or whether it actually wants to embed and live the apology to LGBTQIA people that it so far only claims to believe in.

    This time of treating LGBTQIA people like collateral chaff cannot continue. If the bishops do not have the courage to permit us to enter into same-sex marriages and continue to live out our vocations – vocations that have been acknowledged and affirmed by the church – then it is time for them to admit that. This includes every serving Church of England bishop – every single one of whom, at present, agrees to implement the 2014 voluntary agreement. Similarly, if they want to continue the nonsense of ‘yes at Evensong, no at a standalone’ when it comes to the Prayers of Love and Faith, so be it. If that is the church they are proud to lead into the future, then they should own it.

    That is, of course, the church they currently lead. Waiting is not neutral – it is ongoing structural violence. Deciding not to decide is a decision – a decision to support ongoing injustice, and to say, through their actions, that we are not worth the hassle of making oneself unpopular with one’s sibling bishops. Neither handwringing nor can-kicking, nor hoping it will all go away, nor endless agonising about how difficult it all is, is a Christian virtue.

    And until a single bishop is willing to name this injustice, and then actually act justly, then they can – frankly – keep their apologies.