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Tag: parish church

  • The Archbishop and the Ballot Box: Why 2026 Will Be a Critical Year for the Church of England

    by Nic Tall, National Co-ordinator of Together for the Church of England

    When future church historians look back at 2026 and judge what most shaped the direction of the Church of England in that year, two factors will stand out. The first is clear: the arrival of a new Archbishop of Canterbury, Dame Sarah Mullally, the first woman to hold that role. The second will be the outcome of a critical election in autumn 2026, to the General Synod, which will influence the decisions made in the Church until 2031.

    They are not unrelated. Mullally’s term as Archbishop will largely overlap with the next General Synod, given that her retirement from post will have to take place by Spring 2032 at the latest. While the broad, perhaps too broad, role of Archbishop encompasses far more than being President of the Synod, there is much that the Synod can do to confirm or constrain the policy programme of the national Church that the Archbishop wishes to advance. The flip side of that is the influence of what the Archbishop says when she speaks in a Synod debate.

    The new Archbishop will go through a confirmatory election on 28th January, the only church election this year whose outcome is guaranteed. She will take on a role that brings with it much symbolic power and influence, but less direct power to change the Church than some might think. It is not like being the CEO of a big company, able to hire and fire at will and where a decision in the boardroom is seamlessly rolled out with the rest of the organisation expected to fall into line. The Church of England does not, in itself, exist as a legal entity. Rather it is an umbrella term for a collection of legally independent organisations – National Church Institutions, dioceses, parishes, church schools, theological colleges, religious communities and more. They all have their own systems of governance, a reminder that the most important unit of the Church is the local parish church where 99% of the action happens. But the options available to local churches are determined by national policy – how money is allocated, the safeguarding systems to be followed, what you can do with historic church buildings, and much more besides. How that national context is shaped is very important for mission and ministry in the parishes.

    This brings us to the less certain election of 2026, the General Synod elections, taking place between August and October, in every diocese and for both clergy and lay seats. Elections will be tight, decided by just a few votes one way or the other. I personally know several people on the current Synod who were elected by a majority of just one vote. The current Synod is finely balanced between those who want a more conservative church and those who want a more progressive and inclusive one. This outlook feeds through into many policy areas. One is safeguarding, where more conservative members lean towards keeping church safeguarding ‘in house’ while the progressives are more willing to consider a fully independent system.

    The finely balanced nature of the current Synod is one reason that many policy areas have become stuck, with decisions either fudged or left unimplemented amid calls for more discussion, more advice and more kicking things into the long grass. The extent of independence of safeguarding structures is one area, the mechanism for distributing money from Church Commissioners is another. The clearest example of this impasse is found in Living in Love and Faith where, despite three major votes in favour of progress, the House of Bishops has found ever more inventive ways of delaying the inclusion for LGBT+ people that the majority in the Church want to see. The February 2026 Synod may see the conclusion of the LLF process, but the underlying issue of whether the Church can bring itself to recognise and celebrate the dignity and blessedness of same sex relationships will remain. How that will be managed in future will depend heavily on the outcome of the 2026 General Synod elections.

    So it’s clear that 2026 is a moment of potential change for the Church of England, with a new Archbishop at the helm and a new General Synod waiting to be elected. By the end of the year, we will have a clearer picture of the direction the Church could be taking, and the scope of what might be possible up to 2031. Although many may not realise it, just where that window of opportunity begins and ends is very much in the hands of ordinary members of the Church. Many able to vote in the General Synod elections will not get round to doing so; turnout among the laity is usually only around 50%.

    I have already said that the General Synod elections are often decided by just a few votes. Who forms the electorate? The voters are the members of local Deanery Synods, which by chance also happen to be up for election this year, in the Spring of 2026. Deanery Synods are not usually seen as the most exciting of groups, although they can be a good local forum for sharing experience. But their influence over the composition of General Synod later in the year cannot be over-estimated. Every parish elects at least one person, often more, to the Deanery Synod and many vacancies are left unclaimed. If you care about the direction of the Church, standing for Deanery Synod at your Annual Parochial Church Meeting is one way to make a difference.

    Together for the Church of England works for a more inclusive, diverse and equitable Church. We believe that a national Church with the cure of souls for everyone who lives in the parish should strive to include as many as possible in how it works. Our work focuses on governance, helping to set the rules, processes and structures that determine the freedom that local churches have to be a Christian presence in their communities. We are working with Inclusive Church and others to support candidates who want to stand for election to General Synod, offering advice and guidance through the process. There are local diocesan Together networks across the country, and many of them are holding in person meetings this January so inclusive Christians in your area can meet each other. The local networks are not only important in organising for the Deanery Synod and General Synod elections in 2026 but are also a great way to have solidarity with inclusive Christians in your diocese. If you care about the future direction of the Church, contact your local co-ordinator and be a part of the network. You can also subscribe to the national Together mailing list, an easy way to be kept informed of what is happening. As we look ahead to whatever 2026 will bring, let’s look ahead together, work together and follow Christ together.

  • 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.

  • Collateral Damage: How Unjust Treatment of LGBTQIA+ People Harms the Church

    by Ruth Harley, curate in the Watling Valley Ecumenical Partnership

    All names and some details have been changed to protect the identity of those whose stories are told in this article.

    Let me tell you about Mary. She’s a woman in her 80s, widowed several years ago. She has come faithfully to church every Sunday for her entire life. She organises the flower rota, and volunteers at the parent and toddler group. She makes the tea, and notices when the tea towels need washing. She comes to the Lent course and makes thoughtful contributions, and apologises that she can no longer help stack the chairs afterwards. She has many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and loves to talk about them. In short, Mary is a very ordinary Anglican. She is the sort of person without whom the church simply wouldn’t function, the sort of person who is part of the backbone of the C of E. She is also the sort of person who seems a million miles removed from LLF, General Synod, and conversations about sexuality and relationships. But she isn’t.

    When my partner and I got engaged, 7 years ago, Mary was among the first and most enthusiastic to congratulate me. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said, “Do you have a date for the wedding? And can I do the flowers? Please?” She had, naturally enough, assumed that we would get married in church. And so I had to gently break it to her that not only could we, as a lesbian couple, not get married in the church which Mary and I both loved and served, but also that for clergy marrying a same-sex partner at all was not an option. “But I do believe it will change,” I said. Mary looked me in the eye, and said, “But I won’t be here to see it.” It was the first time I cried about not being able to marry the woman I love.

    I think of Mary whenever people say of the conversation around the place of LGBTQIA+ people in the church: “But that’s not relevant here.” Usually they’re talking about a very ordinary parish church, typically middle-of-the-road with a predominantly older congregation: a congregation full of people like Mary. And I want to tell them – sometimes I do tell them – they’re wrong. It is relevant to Mary, and all the many faithful Anglicans like her, in ways which go far beyond flower arranging.

    Mary and I had many conversations after her initial shock at learning that the church she loved wouldn’t allow the people she loved to marry. Her dismay went far beyond the realisation that she would never do the flowers for our wedding. It was a profoundly destabilising realisation for her: the church to which she had given so much, which had been such a bedrock of her life, such a place of encounter with God, was not what she thought it was. She went on arranging the flowers, reading stories to the toddlers and washing the tea towels, praying each morning and evening and attending church each week, but something fundamental had shifted. The church which she had believed to be a place of abundant love and affirmation – a reflection of God’s unending love for all people – had revealed itself to be… not that.

    And it’s not just Mary, of course. There’s Brian, who invited his friend at work to something at church, and was shocked when his friend asked: “Will it be OK for me to come, as a gay man?” Brian had never considered that question before, but he suddenly realised he wasn’t sure of the answer. There’s Iris, who talks so proudly about her grandson George, but when she participated in her deanery’s LLF course (wondering what all the fuss was about) the couple next to her said quite casually “of course, being gay’s a sin” and she didn’t know how to tell them they were talking about her George. There’s Jean and Steve who struggled to support their daughter through the breakdown of her marriage, and weren’t sure what response they would get if they asked their vicar or their friends at church to pray for their daughter and daughter-in-law. So they kept quiet and struggled on alone. And there are so many more stories I could tell.

    There are people like Mary, Brian, Iris, Jean and Steve in every congregation. There is no part of the church which is untouched by how we treat LGBTQIA+ folks, either directly or indirectly. It is right, of course, that our conversations should centre the experiences of LGBTQIA+ people, who are most directly harmed by the church’s current policies and practices. But we shouldn’t forget the ‘ripple effect’ that harm has on others too. And nobody in church leadership should be claiming that it “isn’t relevant” in their context. It will be. It might just be that the Marys in your congregation don’t feel able to share their stories.

    That ‘ripple effect’ of harm to people who seem far beyond the scope of the questions raised by LLF should not come as a surprise. As Paul says: “if one member suffers, all suffer together with it” (1 Corinthians 12.26). The church’s unjust and unloving treatment of LGBTQIA+ people is not only a cause of pain for those of us most closely affected, it is painful and damaging to the whole body. For someone like Mary, that pain is not only vicarious – the pain she feels because she see that I am treated unjustly – it is also the pain of realising that the body of which she is a part is damaged in ways she had not previously seen. Unjust treatment of LGBTQIA+ people damages the whole church, the whole body of Christ. It distorts the image of God which we present to the world. It is not just an issue for us and our allies, but for the whole church.

    Paul goes on, of course, to say: “if one member is honoured, all rejoice together with it”. There will come a time when our suffering turns to rejoicing. When and how is still unclear, but that is the direction in which the Spirit is surely moving the church, however painfully slowly. I do still believe what I told Mary: that change will come, that my beloved and I will marry. But Mary won’t be there to do the flowers.