Slipping the Moorings
Author: John Schofield
John Schofield is a former Chair of St Mark’s CRC, and past Principal of an Anglican Ministry Training Scheme. |
I write as a priest who has not been active in public ministry for more than fourteen years. I am, however, as Paul Tillich put it, one of those who 'would never cease to ask the theological question. It would pursue them into every realm. They would be bound to it, actually if not vocationally.' I am also someone who still goes to church, for whom my local Christian community is of great importance, still central to the beating heart of my following the Way.
On the other hand, I’ve increasingly come to recognise how the power structures of Churches - especially episcopal ones like ours - echo, almost mimic - the power structures of the empires - Roman and Constantinopolitan - in which it grew up. I'm tending to agree with those who, admittedly with the clarity of historical hindsight, see that Constantine's adoption of Christianity as the religion of the Roman Empire was not just a watershed moment, but was perhaps something of a misstep that shaped the development of the Christian religion and the vessel in which that is carried for the worse, not for the better.
I must admit that as a young and idealistic man, I was excited by this turning point; it was the triumph of Christianity, and I was training to be a priest in the Church of Christ. What was not to like? I had yet to encounter, yet alone be swept up in, become part of, aspects of the institution which developed from a cross in the sky at the Milvian Bridge to the religion of empire. This was the church that developed a hierarchy reflecting the stratification of the Roman army rather than the fairly 'flat' organisational structure that pertained up till then, albeit enlivened by the presence of some charismatic (as we would now call them) leaders. And in the system of diocese and parish, which it brought to this country with Augustine of Canterbury, it echoed the civil administration arrangements that developed during the heyday of the Roman empire; not to mention something of the grandeur of the Byzantine court that lingers in the culture of churches not just of the eastern (Orthodox) stream but also of the western/Latin group within which we, as Anglicans, are situated. And with these developments the church, almost inevitably, was not immune to the corruptions of power.
All this, I now think is rather at odds with what we see the Jesus of the gospels saying and living. If I didn't believe in the resurrection, I'd be tempted to say that Jesus has been turning in his grave ever since.
Gospel writer Mark, in a passage that has always meant much to me, records Jesus as saying:
You know that among the gentiles those whom they recognise as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; instead, whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. (Mark 10. 43-44, NRSVue).
I’m sure that I have often fallen into the temptations of power and its trappings. I now suspect that what I thought of years ago as my having a slightly subversive form of conformity was the first itching of disturbance about, even disenchantment with, the Church as institution. I have learned that the interests of the institution nearly always prevail over the needs of the individual. The Church is more concerned with reputation than forgiveness and reconciliation/restoration, though sadly, it can also close ranks to protect people of influence when reputation is at stake.
I have come to feel quite distanced from the national and international institutions of the Church in I which I have lived, through which I have tried to follow the way of Jesus and to serve God and God's people. It is a Church which, as I have seen for some time, values the unity of a Communion more than it does the promptings of the Spirit, who will lead us into all truth. The Anglican Communion is a human creation, the product of a colonialism of which we should be ashamed. Can its unity be worth the cost, the hurt, the harm and the alienation it causes to countless of God’s children?
I find myself thinking that we live in a church which is guided by law rather than by grace. It is as if the easy way of rules and regulations – for instance, the development of sin lists alongside an almost mechanistic approach to self-examination and confession – is corrupting the freedom that is ours in Christ. Though, as someone recently said to me, the rules of the Church are there for a reason. And therein lies the dilemma of Christianity: rules and structures can often circumscribe the gospel.
Of course, there is a naiveté in this position, an oversimplification. But as the Church of England gets smaller so it seems to many of us that managerialism has gone mad, as we find ourselves driven by targets which are largely impossible to achieve. And ironically there are areas which do demand regulation, such as safeguarding, in which there is the need for careful and rigorous practice, where the Church has shown a breathtaking inability to act in a proper manner, witness the extent of ongoing investigations and reviews.
Just over 50 years ago, the Church adopted a synodical system of governance. This was meant to be a more democratic and answerable system than the one that had been in place since the end of the first world war. However, we have not managed to learn how to live in a church which is both episcopal and synodical, and over the last two decades it seems that the bishops have been wielding an unequal share of power – and therefore control. This sits uncomfortably with a synodically governed church. There is an unequal balance between taking a lead on some issues (such as the whole Living in Love and Faith exercise) and appearing to take decisions without discernible wider debate, such as seeking exemption from equality legislation – an odd position for a Church which should be preaching the unconditional love of God. Indeed, during the course of the years I have been ordained, the Church of England has institutionalised discrimination in the areas of sexual identity and gender. This is an example of what, as I suggest above, it is to be captive to law and to be shackling grace.
Ours is a Church which still, whether overtly or more subtly, tries to control people. Much of that current debate about gender and sexuality is driven by those who want to be seen to be saying yes, but are actually saying no or not yet (though some of course are saying a very controlling no). Is not all this alien to the way of an itinerant Jewish carpenter who put the marginalised at the centre of what he did and said? It’s difficult to live with integrity in such a church, except by battering at the walls and campaigning for change. But I seem to be losing the energy to do that any longer.
The Ordinal talks of priests fashioning our lives according to the pattern of Christ, but too often abuses this patterning by making it another tool for control rather than a shaping for liberation and growth. Speaking for myself as far as Christlikeness is concerned, I know I'll never get there, but I carry on in hope of continuing transformation, walking with others on the same path. But I do now question whether I am right in my oft repeated phrase that I was 'too busy about God's business to have time for God'. But how do we distinguish between God's business and the Church's business?
None of this is to deny the many ways in which individuals and movements over the last seventeen centuries have been Christlike. None of it invalidates the often costly but definitely saint-like lives of the many who have inspired me and often put me to shame. But can I truly say that the Church as institution is Christlike? While to do so might be harsh, I can say that sometimes the Church seems, at the least, to go against the values of the gospel as I understand them.
And yet as human beings trying individually and together to follow Christ, it is inevitable that we develop structures and institutionalisation. But these must serve, rather than be served. What Jesus said to his disciples (Mark 10, as above) applies also to institutions.
Jesus, so John tells us in his gospel, calls us friends. So as I continue to learn what it is to be a friend of God in one of those friendships that though it uses words oftentimes doesn't need them, I slip further away from the thing that has ruled my life, but hopefully deeper into what that thing stands for (autocorrect offered me thug instead of thing - what does it know?). But I am not alone, because I have come to know and live alongside many others for whom this is also the journey. And while there are inevitably aspects of the life of being a priest to the temple (as George Herbert characterised it) that I miss, so often I feel glad that I’m not an accredited public representative of this Church. That this should be so is a cause of great sorrow.
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John Schofield
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