Talking of leadership and governance

Is it just me that suffers from a real sense of leadership fatigue?

Of course, at one level, I know that I am a ‘leader,’ but I am beginning to wonder whether the preoccupation with leadership (and leaders) is, in some way, unhealthy. I also wonder whether such a strong  focus on leadership, in the church, contributes to a form of collective ecclesial myopia? Could it also be that obsessively, slavishly, focusing on leadership as a good in its own right perversely ends up in undermining leadership, growth and maturity? Just some thoughts drifting through my mind.

Leadership is in some ways is sexy and fun. Developing a ‘compelling vision’ supported by a vision, mission statement and strap-line is exciting, perhaps even intoxicating, but are such activities in and of themselves a little bit hollow and, maybe even vacuous? Can corporate visions, mission statements and strap-lines become the very things capable of hoisting ‘leaders’ on their own petard?

I ask because living up to the vision and embodying the values is always a hard ask and any divergence away from the values expressed through the vision, mission and strap-line can easily become rich pickings for those looking to levy charges of hypocrisy and pastoral insensitivity. Is the very notion of leadership in some ways divisive through its ability to categorize and maybe even discriminate? Does the very notion of leadership promote the heroic at the expense of the ordinary? Does leadership, badly exercised, create in groups and out groups, group think and the requirement to be loyal to the club? So many questions!

But my real worry is the growth of leadership undermines the importance of the hard, maybe even tedious work, of governance. Leadership is after all ‘visionary’ (even if people are fatigued by the constant focus on vision and efforts to reinforce it).  If the vision becomes the thing that is beyond question then it becomes, in some ways, extremely difficult to hold leaders to account. If our leaders are not to be held to account we need to hope and pray that they are benign rather than tyrannical in their approach to others; their subjects.

In many ways the financial crisis represents the triumph of leadership over governance. The risk managers in the finance sector were roundly marginalized and ignored. Risk managers, with their difficult and challenging questions, were seen as irritants. Anything that called into question the never-ending desire for success and growth was regarded as heretical. The cult of the leader, some of whom were publicly esteemed for their achievements, reigned supreme. The subliminal message running unchecked through some of the financial institutions was simply this: be loyal to the leader, be a member of their gang. Any notions of loyalty and obedience being defined solely through reference to ‘all things legal and honest,’ was jettisoned on the altar of growth and success, at which the corporate leader presided.

I think, in the Church of England, we need to recapture the art of governance. In fact I would go further and suggest that it is the only way that leadership can, in the long-run, be sustained. Bishops and other senior ‘leaders’ perhaps first and foremost need to regard themselves as governors, rather than leaders; after all the head of the Church of England, the monarch, is described as the ‘supreme governor.’ Surely, it therefore follows, her Archbishops and Bishops are the day-to-day governors?

Being a good and effective governor demands a high level of objectivity and, an absolute determination to ensure that the Church of England at ‘all times and in all places,’ manifestly places the virtues of legality and honesty at the centre of its decision-making processes, operations and, I would argue, strategy. Being a good and effective governor requires rigor and courage.  Good governors are never slaves to a vision and refuse to be taken in by mission statements and strap-lines. Good governors are prepared to court contempt and ridicule by those addicted to the intoxicating spirits of vision, mission and strap-lines. Good governance requires an attention to that most boring of things: detail. Good governors understand that sustainability and long-term success is dependent on the nitty-gritty. Good governors get their heads out of the clouds and operate with their feet firmly planted on the ground. Good governance is, above all things, an exercise in virtue.

Good governance is about raising the right (good and moral) questions and demanding that they are answered. It is about shining light into the potential darkness. Without good governance we, the Church of England, will collapse. Leadership, vision, mission statements and strap-lines can only take you so far and they risk taking you in entirely the wrong direction. Leadership, by itself, is poor cartography.

It is perhaps a statement of the obvious to suggest that over the last few weeks a failure in governance has been laid before the Church of England in all its gory details. I am of course referring to the IICSA hearings. It will be up to the governance experts (I am assuming we have some) to respond appropriately, but my fear is we (the C of E) won’t go far enough.

I would like to see the House of Bishops and every diocese appointing a Chief Risk Officer, or a Director of Risk. When I worked in the city the board of the company on which I was privileged to serve had a director of risk. His job, broadly speaking, covered three spheres of activity: Corporate Governance (and as he constantly reminded us we were all governors), the management of relationships with regulators and, crucially risk (financial, operational and reputational.)

His job was to ask, and to encourage us to learn to ask for ourselves, the ‘what if questions.’ His job, in a nutshell, was to keep us ‘legal and honest,’ to look for the downside in our strategic decision-making and operational processes and, to ensure that the charge of hypocrisy couldn’t be levied and, that us ‘leaders’ didn’t leave ourselves vulnerable to being hoisted on our own petard. He always reminded us that our reputations were dependent on doing the right things, in the right way. We didn’t, of course, get everything right but he made sure we avoided getting a lot of things horribly wrong. He didn’t do the sexy ‘leadership’ stuff but his value was incalculable for the straightforward reason that he kept us ‘legal and honest.’ 

If the Church of England truly desires to sustain, flourish and grow then maybe we need to spend less time focusing on ‘leadership’ and more on governance? 






Talking of brands. And, the cross

As I was reading and reflecting on this week’s gospel (John 12, 20-33) I couldn’t help but think about the concepts of brands and branding. A bizarre line of thought maybe, but hey-ho.

Brands are interesting things (up to a point). At a branding seminar in the early 1990’s I was told that brands are a mixture of the incontrovertible truths, about a company, product or service and, a range of intangible benefits, features and even promises. I think this is a fair description. Let’s unpick this for a second or two by considering a particular brand. I have chosen Mont Blanc pens, but really any brand will do.

Let’s start with the most basic of facts: the Mont Blanc pen is nothing other, in reality, than a pen. It is a means of writing. Theoretically it would be perfectly possible for a company to make a pen to the same quality as a Mont Blanc pen and simply retail it as something called Pen. The trouble is that they wouldn’t be able to command a premium price, for the ability to command a premium comes not from the basic product features, or even necessarily the price of the raw materials used to manufacture the product, but through the intangible benefits that owning a product, good or service is supposed to provide. In the case of luxury brands, such as Mont Blanc, the intangible benefits include status, esteem and the perception of wealth and happiness. Mont Blanc pens are a club good. Most, certainly most premium consumer brands, are club goods. The basic message is buy this product or service and you can become a member of an elite group; a group capable of giving, and providing you, with a sense of identity. The marketing message of the brand manager is, in some senses, deeply theological: ‘we come that you may have life in all its abundance.’   The snag is that in order to buy into this false narrative the product, good or service on offer needs to become an object of deep desire. The good is to become in some senses a god.

This promise is of course a lie, or even a heresy, for no brand can offer life in all its abundance. The marketing folk know that their promises are shallow, for brands that provide life-long satisfaction will go out of business. Mont Blanc needs its customers to buy more pens. Brand management is about selling the illusion of satisfaction and not its permanence. The job of the brand manager is to keep the customer mildly dissatisfied whilst at the same time seeking to retain their loyalty by offering the promise that your status within the club will be enhanced if only you buy a bigger, better and more expensive product from the range on offer. Brands, in this way are discriminatory and exclusive.

The exclusive and discriminatory nature of brands, justified through the science of ‘customer segmentation’ was brought home to me when I became an ordinand. For the previous decade or so my bank, Barclays, had offered me all manner of treats as a premier customer: a leatherette cheque book cover, a snazzy looking debit card, a personal banker, a guaranteed overdraft facility, access to a premier loan, the occasional offer of entering a ballot for football tickets and so forth. Of course the real  desire was to sell me products! My ‘premier’ status was won on the basis of my, then, income. The very month that I became an ordinand the bank were on the phone: ‘what has happened to your income?’ When I explained that I was now the grateful recipient of a training grant so I could attend theological college I was downgraded, with immediate effect, to the status of an ordinary customer. No more perks. My membership of the Barclays premier club was withdrawn, taken away. My new cheque books and debit card arrived and I never heard from my ‘premier banker’ again. The bank was effectively telling me that from henceforth I should consider myself Joe Average. C’est la vie. I had been, once again segmented.

The Cross is , of course, the most visible symbol of Christianity. I hesitate to call it a brand but its true that the crucifixion was a historical fact and, that Christians believe that benefits flow from a life of  purposeful faith. The cross was the place where Jesus was branded, as a criminal, and killed, not for his own benefit but ours. The crucified Jesus is the same Jesus who John (10,10) records as saying, ‘I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.’ 

The ‘they’ in Jesus’ terms means everyone: you, me, us. Jesus makes the universal branding promise: I, not you, will pay: I will pay once and once only, for there is nothing worse you can do to me and, my ‘offer’ is universal, I don’t segment or discriminate: I do not chose to differentiate between people.

At the beginning of the gospel passage we are told that some Greeks had come to worship at the festival (of the Passover) and had approached Philip saying Sir, we wish to see Jesus.’ Andrew (good chap – my namesake) then goes and informs Jesus. Jesus then suggests that the only way that they, like his kin the Jews, will be able to see Jesus and, all that he stands for is through the Cross. It is not a snazzy or glossy image but it is the universal image, or symbol, and, whatever the marketing folk would have us believe, the cross is the only way we can ever come to ‘have life in all its abundance.’  Surveying the ‘wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died,’ is our Passiontide invitation.

The Cross is the only true means through which we are able to claim life in all its abundance and, play our role in putting an end to segmentation, classification and discrimination.





Talking of being progressive and liberal

I recently stumbled across a poster on Facebook which offered the following three propositions:

A liberal church says you are welcome here and don’t need to clean up your life.

A legalistic church says you are not welcome here until you clean up your life.

Jesus says you are welcome here and I will change your life from the inside out (John 8, 11).

Now I can’t speak for the legalistic church but maybe I can for a liberal church?

Although I would prefer to use the phrase orthodox-progressive as an identifier, meaning that I am fully signed up to the truths expressed though the creeds in a fundamentally literal sense whilst being progressive in issues relating to both gender and sexuality, others, because of the ground on which I stand, have and continue to describe me as liberal. And, that’s just fine.

But, what is not fine is the suggestion that ‘liberals’ or ‘progressives’ aren’t interested in helping people live better, cleaner, more Christ-like lives. In all honesty I don’t know any liberal clergy who don’t prize conversation and transformation of life highly. I don’t know of any liberal or progressive clergy who aren’t deeply committed to conversion in a real, meaningful and life-enhancing way.

I think that virtually every liberal or progressive preacher that I have heard  takes growth into the likeness of Christ to be fundamental to the liberal or progressive project. Sure, just as with conservative Christianity there is a huge spectrum within liberal or progressive Christianity, but the overwhelming majority of contemporary ‘liberals’ take conversion of life, and the notion of habitas, to be characteristic of the Christian life.

The liberal or progressive Christian, isn’t overly concerned with relativism, or some form of theological libertarianism, but with coming to good, sound and virtuous decisions about how the Christian life might  be well lived. For sure, this is frequently done through engagement with other disciplines. The liberal or progressive Christian takes Scripture seriously, very seriously, but is happy to reason through discourse and, by analogy.  This method of Scriptural engagement isn’t new or faddy, and neither does it represent a capitulation to culture. Instead it draws deeply from the well of tradition; think of Origen and his method of biblical engagement, for instance. And, then there is Henry Major whose dialogical liberalism was entirely bound up with arriving at good decisions and the subsequent exercise of virtue, both at the individual and corporate level of analysis. The liberal or progressive prizes dialogical and analogical reasoning and relies on Scripture as the primary source. Scripture in this way is cherished and acknowledged for its revelatory potential. Progressive and liberal methods of exegesis are both traditional and sophisticated.

Liberal or progressive Christians are, it is true, happy to welcome honest doubters and, those who don’t know quite why they are in church into the community. They don’t insist on sound doctrine as a condition for membership, or even for offering gifts and blessings to the church. Pilgrimage and journeying are important concepts for many liberal-progressives. However, the hope, prayer and expectation is that en route lives will be transformed, relationships deepened, wounds healed and that Christ will be made known.

Community is important to most liberal-progressive types. Liberal or progressive Christianity is certainly not, despite some conservative critiques, an exercise in religious individualism. Many liberal-progressive churches make a virtue of the type of community, and witness, they are seeking to fashion. The biblical concept of Koinonia is as important to the liberal and progressive church as it is to the conservative church. As an orthodox-progressive priest one of my absolute pre-occupations is the shape and collective witness of the church. I am ever so slightly obsessed with Peter Selby’s 1991 question:

‘What is the shape of the community of women and men that you long for, and for which the Church is a preparation?

This is an ecclesial and eschatological question. It is a question for the whole church and, maybe in particular, the progressive wing of the church. It is also a communal and divisive question. It presupposes that faith is exercised corporately and communally. The question hints that churches can have healthy or unhealthy shapes. It is a suggestive and eschatological question in that it insists that the church here on earth (the church imperfect) is a preparation, and more importantly a living witness, to the church in heaven (the church perfect).

Liberal and progressive Christians, despite the conservative critique, do believe that transformation of life, conversion, both individually and collectively, is the rationale of an active faith. To suggest otherwise is just plain wrong. The overwhelming majority of liberal and progressive Christians would share John Stott’s sentiment that changed people change the world. In fact, paradoxically given the stable which Stott helped build, transformation is the fundamental concern of large swathes within the  progressive-liberal church. It’s certainly mine!

Talking of identity, mental health and addiction.

My dad would have been eighty on Wednesday. Sadly, tragically, he died aged forty seven in 1985 (2nd October – the same day Rock Hudson went to meet his maker). So, this week has been a sad, poignant, week in some ways.

My dad (Barrie) was born into a working class family in Rishton, near Blackburn. He had a fierce intelligence and benefited from a grammar school education, in Accrington. He was particularly good at maths and science. After school he joined the army – well he had no choice really but to join army (national service) – and was commissioned. He played rugby to a high standard and was an excellent marksman. He was then sent to Cyprus where he witnessed, and was personally impacted by, some hideous acts of barbarity. Cyprus left its scars both physically and psychologically and, I would guess, spiritually. Dad found the concept of a loving God hard to accept.

Post Cyprus and the army dad began working for I.C.L. and studied Maths, in the evenings, at the University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology. He was awarded a first class honors degree; pretty impressive for a working class lad from Rishton. He became a computer scientist. The 1960’s were heady times for the computer industry and I am proud that my dad was a pioneer. He oversaw the building and installation of a computer at the University of East Anglia in 1962. He met and fell in love with my mother, over her neighbours garden fence (he was a fellow rugby player) and, was married in 1964. He was then offered a plum job at Moor Hall, I.C.L.’s academy in Cookham, Berkshire, lecturing and undertaking research in applied computing. The family moved south in 1966. In the early 1970’s he set up his own business, Enquiry Systems Limited, which he sold in 1978 to RACAL Electronics.

It’s a good story. One of success, of triumph in the face of adversity, the self-made man and so forth, isn’t it? Except that my dad couldn’t live with himself. There is no doubt that he was seriously, and permanently, traumatized by Cyprus.  He suffered from the most horrific nightmares. He was a deeply kind and compassionate man but he also suffered from the most extraordinary temper. I say, he suffered, because his outbursts of rage, which were incredibly frightening, led to periods of prolonged remorse. He had other identity issues as well (lets leave that one hanging) and, began to drink; heavily, very heavily. The drinking to its toll and he died in 1985. The death certificate provides a medical diagnosis and reason for death, but in my opinion, he died of a broken heart and mind. There is nothing pleasant, good, or calm about an alcoholics death. The last five years of his life was a living hell both for dad, and for the family. Life had no stability, no predictability. The five or so years after his death were also pretty cruel. I call them my wilderness years. I know that I could have gone the same way as dad, so insecure and fragile was I in my own identity.

So what ‘saved’ me? Or more precisely who ‘saved’ me? Well, I was fortunate to meet my Christian wife and I joined the church. I was ‘saved’ through my relationships. And, for this I will be forever grateful. It was through my marriage and through the church, working alongside each other, that I began the process of discovering my identity; ‘in Christ.’

Now, I don’t think my story is unique or even abnormal. Mental health problems and addiction are rife, the effects of them devastating. I often talk to a friend about the level of despondency and despair I witness in church. One of the most intimate pastoral encounters that a priest can have is during the distribution of the sacrament. The altar rail is, in many ways, the best place to pick up clues about what is really going on in people’s lives. It is a place of, if you will excuse the pun, instant feedback. I look for the tears in the corner of communicants eyes and, often wonder why the person who normally seeks to make eye contact has begun to keep their head bowed. Sometimes what I see in people’s eyes is a simple request for help, a plea for healing. And, then there is touch. Sometimes, often, people want something more than the bread to be simply placed in their hands. They want, for the briefest, of moments to be touched, for their hand to be held. For me the Eucharist has become a place, or do I mean occasion, for healing. Mind you this might be expected given the affirmations that ‘the Lord is here’ and that ‘his Spirit is with us?’

If the church is to take her healing ministry seriously, which she must, then she must position herself ‘a yard from the gates of hell,’ (C.T. Stubbs). This implies reaching out to those devastated by mental health and addiction. The church must offer a safe and healing place for both sufferers and survivors. Mental health and addiction are the two epidemics of our age. They are conditions which posses,  torment, imprison, dominate and kill. Frequently, the route cause of mental health and addiction is a crisis of identity: ‘who am I’ followed by ‘what have I become’ are two questions frequently asked by sufferers.

The Church needs to find ways to reach out to all who are carrying the heaviest of burdens and play her part in rebuilding damaged lives. It needs to find ways of partnering with secular agencies, offering the use of its buildings and, through its life and worship, restoring damaged and tormented souls. It needs above all to make sure  it never adds to or increases the weight of the burdens carried by many. For sure the church has, and can, add to already unbearable loads. Sadly doctrine, dogma, ‘orthodoxy’ can all be used as building blocks in the creation of an unbearable load. For the church this should be a sobering thought.

To live a life of torment, fueled through mental health problems,addiction and crises of identity, is to live life ‘a yard from the gate of hell,’ that is the grim reality. I am grateful that through my marriage, and through the church, I was able to begin the journey of finding the real me, that I was able to find a place where ‘deep calleth on deep,’ and where the storms raging within could be calmed and, where fears could be named, acknowledged, and overcome. The journey of recovery is seldom straightforward and linear. It requires patience, endurance, understanding, authenticity, solidarity, and friendship. My favorite verse, or mantra, also helps: ‘I sought the Lord and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears,’ (Psalm,34, 4).

My hope and prayer is that the church will always be part of the solution in tackling questions of identity and in breaking the bonds of those held captive by those two most greedy and destructive of impostors: mental health problems and addiction.

Talking of ability

The phrase ‘we are able’ jumped off the page when I was reading the gospel set for Wednesday’s Eucharist (Matthew 17, 17-27). In the story James and John’s affirmation is to Jesus’ question as to whether they are ‘able to drink the cup,’ that he, Jesus, is ‘about to drink.’ Of course their affirmation is made in the hope that they will achieve the vain glory of being given the privileged positions of sitting immediately beside Jesus’, one on his left and the other on his right, in the ‘kingdom.’ 

James and John, of course, have the ultimate pushy mother. She wants her children, her ‘grown up,’ but immature children, to be top of the class. Yes, they have to show their ability, but only so that it can be recognised and rewarded. It is in many ways a very modern story, for it is a me story. But, the Christian story is never simply a me story, it is an us story. It is the story of loving service, of using our ability to help others, for their benefit and not ours. It was, and is, a profoundly counter cultural story.

I don’t find it an easy story, for I, like James and John crave recognition, prestige and privilege. I want to be recognised for my ‘good works,’ and ‘my’ ability to bring people into the church. I suspect that I am not alone; that’s the good news. And, what I don’t know, as yet, is if I am really ‘able,’ to drink from the fullness of the cup. In Bonhoeffer’s terms I don’t as yet know whether I am more attracted, and in some ways more likely to peddle, ‘cheap grace’ than to accept the mantle of ‘costly discipleship.’

Maybe the journey of discipleship is about arriving at the point where we are truly, with total integrity, able to say ‘we are able?’ Maybe this is something that can only be answered in the collective, with the emphasis on ‘we’? Jesus called twelve apostles to spend time with him, learn from him, and be with him. Perhaps, the other apostles were cross with James and John not just because of their vain glory but because they broke ranks and undermined the concept of ‘we?’ 

Just a few thoughts on a highly challenging Lent reading.





Talking of giving and withholding blessing

I was intrigued earlier this week to discover that two evangelical groups, Reform and the Fellowship of Word and Spirit, are to merge under the banner of another conservative evangelical group: the Church Society. The rationale for the merger is to create greater unity among evangelicals opposed to (further) liberalization in the Church of England, in respect of issues relating to gender and sexuality.

Institutional mergers, in all walks of life, are interesting things. A positive narrative is, of course, always  spun to support the merger (scale, efficiency, unity etc) but, the real driver is frequently fear. Somehow or other institutions tend to believe in an unspoken line that suggests that bigger is safer. I am never convinced by this line of reasoning. In fact I would suggest that the history of mergers, at least in the corporate world, shows that they tend to fail, sometimes quite catastrophically. The reason is simple: combining two piles of trouble (anxiety, fear etc) in some ways only ends up creating one bigger pile of trouble (anxiety, fear etc). Mergers can work, but they tend not to when they are just a structural attempt to solve a strategic, political, or theo-political problem. So will the newly enlarged Church Society be more successful in combating progressive tendencies than Reform and the Fellowship of Word and Spirit were as two separate entities? Possibly, but, probably not, would be my guess.

Of course some progressives were left scratching their heads in wonder at the suggestion that the Church of England is embracing progressive theologies, particularly in relation to ‘issues of human sexuality’ (church code for homosexuality). Where, they have asked, is the evidence that the Church of England has gone ‘mega liberal?’ And, up to a point its a valid question. I say, up to a point, because last week in his interview with the Church Times I began to detect a shift in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s rhetoric. Now, to be clear, I think caution needs to be exercised when analyzing precisely what ++Justin means, and where he is trying to lead the debate. I also recognize that I might be being just a tad overoptimistic.

I was intrigued by the title of the interview: ‘To bless and withhold blessing.’ Could this be a reflection of the dilemma that ++Justin faces in his leadership of the discussions over human sexuality (church code for homosexuality)? Surely, he knows that at some stage he will have to come down on one side of the argument or the other? Is he going to argue for a church which does, or does not, permit same-sex relationships to be blessed in some way, shape, or form?  My gut feeling is that he is moving, purposefully and intentionally, in a vaguely progressive direction. Vaguely because I think he accepts that it is an inevitability that there will be changes in some, yet to be defined, way, shape or form. My only ‘evidence’ for this is some of his replies (which I hope were given after serious consideration). Let’s look at some of the statements ++Justin made:

‘One of the other changes, I hope, I think, has been that both the College and the House of Bishops have become more willing to discuss – the last meeting was a very good one – more open, more collegial. And, that’s not something I’ve just brought in: it’s happened  steadily, with a common view of that happening. But, what this means is you can raise subjects and actually chew them over together, and that reopens your room for manoeuvre.’ 

Could it just be that the bishops have, at last, realized that unity is not to be found in uniformity and, that disagreement and divergence is not only okay, but that ‘disagreeing well,’ is a sign of health and vitality? It might seem a statement of the obvious but if ‘disagreeing well,’ is to be a guiding ecclesiological motif it needs to be modeled in, by and through the episcopacy!

I was also struck by the extent to which ++Justin was keen to distance himself from William Taylor and the approach that he, and those who adopt similar critiques, of ‘disagreeing well’ endorse:

‘Well, I’ve never been that close to William. I’ve met him a couple of dozen times over the last forty years, I guess. I’m very reluctant to disagree with him on this, but I don’t agree with his biblical view on that. I think that when you look through, particularly, Paul’s letter to the Romans, 1 Corinthians and 2 Corinthians, the latter part of Philippians, Ephesians – I could go on and on – a lot of the underlying theme is how a Church that was extraordinarily diverse, particularly between Jews and non-Jews, found its unity in Jesus Christ, although it disagreed on numerous things, most fundamentally about the application of the law.’

This statement, and to me it does read like a statement, is clearly thought through and argued with vigor. It doesn’t read to me as the thoughts of someone who thinks that one side in the debate is going to win at the expense of the other. It reads as an endorsement of different integrities ‘in Jesus Christ,’ alongside a pragmatic acceptance of the inevitability of change in some way, shape or form. Maybe the comment that ‘we don’t have to tick exactly the same boxes, but we do have to be devoted to Christ as Lord; we need to be caught up in the love of God, in Jesus Christ,’ also confronts the reality of divergence and change? I may be reading too much in to this but is it also possible that its not really about William Taylor (the Rector of St. Helen’s Bishopsgate), as an individual, but rather William Taylor as an archetype for all, including some bishops, who disagree with the notion of ‘disagreeing well?’  Maybe its these sorts of reflections that has got Reform, the Fellowship of Word and Spirit, and the Church Society  so concerned?

Reform, Word and Spirit, the Church Society and no doubt a fair few other evangelicals will remain unhappy with the idea of different integrities but it does seem to be the track that is now being carefully laid.

My final piece of supporting evidence is ++Justin’s comments in relation to the Episcopal Teaching Document: ‘Its not coming to find a conclusion (good – my addition). It’s a mapping out the areas of our agreement and disagreement always around the themes of missiology and theological anthropology and general anthropology; and looking at the culture, biblical theology and the history and patristic theology. Those four great themes……..the outcome of it, I hope, will be a much clearer map of the things we agree on, the things we disagree on: and the things we think are really serious disagreements, the most fundamental disagreements.’ This quote makes it crystal clear that a settled unified, enforced doctrinal outcome is not even remotely on the cards. Different integrities are here to stay.

Once the principle of different integrities is accepted (as it appears to have been by ++Justin)  then in some way, shape or form change is inevitable. The ability ‘to bless and withhold blessing’ is on its way and I suspect that there is little that the merger of Reform and the Fellowship of Word and Spirit, under the banner of the Church Society, can do to prevent it.





Ash Wednesday and going bonkers

If anyone saw us now they would think we were bonkers.’

These words were whispered to me at Cuddesdon theological college by my friend, Big Nick, as we waited in the aisle of the village church, for ashing. He had a point, there we were a group of fresh, and not so fresh-faced ordinands, dressed in white cassock-albs, waiting for a priest to mark our foreheads with ash. When you stop to think about being ashed is not normal; in fact it’s very odd.

Or, at least its odd by the standards of the world. Ash Wednesday, I would want to suggest, sees the church at her most counter-cultural. The words ‘from dust you have come and to dust you shall return,’ are words that stand contrary to the myth of the self-made, independent, destiny deciding, write your own script story, perpetuated in contemporary culture. Ash Wednesday in crucial ways reminds us that we are not ultimately in charge, and worst still that death is the great equalizer, for it is an ultimate and unarguable truth that ‘to dust’ we shall all ‘return.’ Ash Wednesday, far from being bonkers, even though the ritual of ashing looks bonkers, is a call to embrace the ultimate truth; that ‘to dust’ we shall ‘return,’ as equals. To fully accept that we have come from dust and shall return to dust, is, I would want to argue, to be graced by humility.

Humility is the greatest of liberators. If God is in charge, if there is literally nothing that I can do to prevent the reality that one day I will return to dust, then perhaps I can learn to stop striving quite so hard; perhaps you can learn to stop striving so hard? What I am referring to is, of course, the sense that we need to strive to impress, so that we can be well thought of and liked. Wouldn’t it be far better, not only for ourselves, but also for others, if we simply learnt to accept ourselves as we are before God? We would presumably be so much happier? Ash Wednesday and Lent beckon us into the ever deeper levels of humility; the consequence, or fruit, of which is, very possibly, greater levels of contentment and happiness. And, that truly is a counter-cultural thought! The world wants you and me to believe that happiness and contentment are purchased through acquisition, self-development and status, Christianity says, ‘rubbish it starts with humility.’

If it, the journey to contentment and happiness, starts with humility, then it is built through a commitment to holiness. Today’s gospel reading repeatedly makes this point: ‘whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father in secret,’ (Matthew 6, 6) and ‘whenever you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your father who is in secret,’ (Matthew 6, 17-18). To pray silently, alone, before the Father is to exercise holiness. To pray silently and in a spirit of humility has the effect of bringing us closer to the ultimate reality that the only view of us that really counts, at the end of the day, when we are but dust, is God’s. It really doesn’t matter if anyone else thinks we are ‘bonkers,’ for ultimately it is only God’s view that counts.

Surely, whatever the world says, it is this level of knowledge, this depth of knowledge, that is the only true source of happiness and contentment?

Lent is often, and correctly, referred to as a penitential season, but the paradox is this; if engaged with in a spirit of humility, and with a commitment to growth in holiness the consequence could well be increased stocks of liberation, freedom, and, dare I say it, happiness. Let’s go ‘bonkers’ this Lent!