Capitulating to Secular Values?

A letter, sent to the Telegraph, and signed by a number of leading conservatives, not all of whom are Anglican, bemoans the fact that there are now two forms of Anglicanism in England. One of these has capitulated to secular values, particularly in respect of attitudes to homosexuality. The other, describing themselves as faithful orthodox Anglicans, are those who continue to hold the faith ‘once delivered to the saints’. At the same time there is a group of people (some Anglicans and others no longer in the Anglican Church) who are meeting to plan a faithful ecclesial future.

The phrase, ‘once delivered to the saints’, is a favourite of those who take the view that the gospel message cannot be changed. My problem with the use of this phrase is that it can be used against any change. What was once delivered to the saints? It seems to me that that is the fact that Jesus died on a cross, that he rose to new life on the third day and these events are linked to a new age in which the Spirit is being poured out on the world in a way that is transformational. Yet within the pages of the New Testament there is already change, as for example the obvious debate as to whether this is a message only for the Jews, or whether Gentiles too are included in God’s saving plan. It took a century or two before what is ‘orthodox’, in terms of Christian doctrine, was hammered out in the form of the creeds. Oddly, the creeds make no mention of human sexuality.

For me, as an orthodox, bible-believing Christian, the faith once delivered to the saints is totally focussed on the person of Christ. I do not primarily seek to defend any doctrine of the atoning sacrifice of the cross, nor of the historic truth of the resurrection. Rather I am compelled to share my joy at the transforming power of the love of God, mediated to me through the dying Christ, and the reality of the risen Christ in my life. I might read the account of Pentecost but, rather than engaging in an exegesis on these texts, they form a framework for my faith which has led me to a place in which Pentecost is certainly a vital chapter in the history of our faith but, far more importantly, it is my own experience of my life being set ablaze by the power of the Holy Spirit. This radically changed my life. It changed my own-self-awareness. It changed my relationship with every person I meet and indeed with the whole of creation. It changed me so much that one of my relatives said she could no longer recognise me as the same person. That is what it means to be born again. And that transforming, renewing love is what I have preached for this past 40 years. It is the Gospel once delivered to the saints. It is first order stuff. It is the heart of what it means to be a Christian.

So I despair at the sight of fellow Christians seeking to set up alternative structures within the Anglican Church, which take as their core value what people do with their genitals. It appears that they do not like secular values, especially when it comes to questions about human sexuality. And it seems that it is this that has become for them the issue which defines true Christian faith. I have to disagree. It is the transforming reality of Christ, who set my life on fire with the flame of the Holy Spirit, that both defines my life and binds me into one fellowship with every other Spirit-filled person I meet. In fact that fellowship is not so exclusive, for the vision of a world that is drawn into the Kingdom of heaven is what makes me so passionate about mission.

I wonder whether modern views of human sexuality, which accept committed, covenanted relationships between people of the same gender, are quite as secular as is made out. In 2012 I toured some of the Scandinavian Churches of the Lutheran tradition, with whom we are bound through the Porvoo agreement. In several of these countries the church marries people of the same sex. It helps that they do not accept that one can speak of a ‘doctrine of marriage’. For them the core doctrines of the Gospel do not include anything about marriage. But in Sweden, when the debate was running as to whether or not the church should embrace same-sex marriage, the Archbishop made a speech in which she said that the Church should be thankful that Gospel values had finally impacted on secular values and helped to change them. For centuries, she said, we have been preaching that in Christ there is no Greek or Gentile, no slave or free, and finally the secular state has listened and made marriage inclusive.

There is perhaps a warning here that whatever it is that we hold dear is not necessarily THE Christian point of view. Other Christians think differently. Do we really believe that we are preaching the Gospel, if we divide over issues of human sexuality? Are we not making an idol out of this issue, in that we are allowing this, and not Christ, to define and shape our lives?

The Church and Bexit

As we engage in the process of Brexit, we are assured by the proponents of this move that there are wonderful opportunities out there and it will all be worthwhile in the end. I am not so sure. There was much wrong with Europe and much that needed reform, but I cannot see that Brexit is the answer. I think of my own ministry and a lifetime of involvement in the ecumenical movement. I have experienced many examples of dynamic and vibrant expressions of mission and ministry, which were enabled by different churches coming together and working as one. A common passion for a mission project can bring people together in a way in which other differences of tradition and practice take their rightful secondary place. Indeed, in such a project, difference can become treasure to be shared, as a variety of perspectives become rich ingredients in the mix of the project. Such ecumenism is life-giving and generates energy. I have experienced such exciting moments of ecumenical practice and it strongly enhances mission. Yet I have also experienced the opposite of this. Ecumenical endeavours that have lost that sense of purpose can so easily become, not life-giving, but energy-draining. When the ecumenical purpose ceases to be caught up in the exhilaration of working for a shared goal, and all energy is sucked into maintaining the structure of the project and the relationships between the participants, then the ecumenical ideal has been lost. The whole endeavour has lost the cutting edge of mission and it has become a time-consuming exercise in managing structures.

It seems to me that the problem with EU is that it has lost its unifying and life-giving ideal and has become instead a body which sucks in energy simply to maintain its structures. The lack of a shared ideal and common purpose can be seen in the difference between those who primarily want a political union and those who see the EU as a free-trade area with countries maintaining their own sovereignty. So, for many, it has lost its vibrant ideal for the future and is seen as a burden. It is not apparent to me that those who exercise the governance of our country have the charismatic leadership skills needed to unify our nation and draw us into a new shared narrative which will take us into a better future. Being tough at the EU negotiating table is not the same as having the visionary leadership needed to take us into a future in which our whole nation can prosper. Neither is the call for unity within our nation enough to overcome the deep divisions within our society. My experience of ecumenism leads me to say that only a shared endeavour, which fires up the imagination of all the participants, will have any hope of success.

The same might be said about the future of the Anglican Communion. As long as we are divided about such third-order issues as sexual ethics, and as long as such issues consume so much of our passion and energy, we will be a weak church, which will never quite succeed in its task of proclaiming afresh the Kingdom of God for our present generation. In my ecumenical career I have found a delight in working as partners with those who could not recognise the ministry of women, or indeed who either did not recognise my ministry as an Anglican or, on the other hand, the need for any ordination. Yet a shared passion to engage with the wider community with the message of God’s saving love was what bound us together. What a force for the Kingdom we would be if, despite some deep differences between us, we responded to the love of God, and celebrated our shared vocation to mission, by gathering around one Eucharistic table! It is our shared response to a body, broken for a fallen world, that should shape us and unite us in a passion set alight by the fire of the Spirit. Instead, we seem to delight in clinging to our differences, defending them and setting them up as tokens of true faith, while a world that cries out for the very bread of heaven goes largely unfed.

Vestments

The recent decision by General Synod to allow clergy not to use vestments is being heralded as a change in the practice of the Church of England. It is certainly a change in the law of the land, but how much change we will see in practice is quite a different matter. There are many Church of England churches around me where it is common to see clergy not wearing robes. The clergy concerned will have sworn an oath to abide by canon law, one of which laws say that clergy should robe (although ‘robing in what?’ has been a question of long-standing debate). Often it is the case that changing practice precedes a change in the rules, so what the Synod has done is to change the law to fit in with present practice in many churches. Even in churches like mine, which will go on using robes, there are occasions when, on pastoral or missional grounds, it is inappropriate to robe. The canons have been changed to recognise that. It must be healthy to bring the law back into what is now common practice.

When I was a student we welcomed the arrival of a new liturgy lecturer, who was from the Uniting Church of Australia. This new church was formed by the joining up of a number of different denominations. They called themselves ‘uniting’ (rather than united) because the process of Christians coming together in unity was work in hand. They found themselves having to agree on what rules and regulations would govern their church. Would their clergy robe? They thought not, but then the discussion moved on to what was appropriate dress for their ministers. Perhaps ordinary clothes would be appropriate – tee shirt and jeans? They thought not. Perhaps a smart suit? But then it was pointed out that suits (in their culture) were the preserve of the rich and powerful (this was the 1970s!). In the end they opted for a simple cassock-alb and stole. It marked out the person exercising the ministry of president and was a mode of dress which spoke neither of class nor wealth, but simply of the ministerial role being exercised by this person at this particular time.

I remember going to evensong at Westminster Abbey to hear Colin Winter preach. Colin was the exiled Anglican bishop of Namibia, who lived in London and had been exiled because of his opposition to apartheid and to the South African regime that controlled Namibia. There was something incredibly powerful about the sight of this man processing in the grand entry procession at the start of the service. The Dean and canons were resplendent in gorgeous copes, each of which certainly was worth thousands of pound. Colin wore a simple cassock-alb and stole. It was a simplicity that spoke volumes about a servant ministry that was to speak in a context of worldly power. Somehow, in that context, his robes were themselves a message about a gospel that should be speaking truth to power.

I have a certain admiration for some of my Roman Catholic colleagues, who might seldom be seen in any form or clerical dress, but who will put on robes to preside at the Mass. Those of us, who are ordained, do not cease to be part of the people of God and more important than our ordination is the fact that we have been baptized. I prefer to be called ‘Nigel’, rather than ‘Vicar’, as that is my Christian name and I am among a company of people who together share the vocation to be the Body of Christ, broken for the healing of a wounded world. Yet I will continue to put on my cassock-alb and stole when I exercise a priestly and liturgical. It marks me out as exercising a particular ministry of service and the empowerment of others. It must not remove me from the company of the baptized within whom the Spirit dwells.