Let Not Your Right Hand Know

It's sort of appropriate that tomorrow is the feast day of St Elizabeth of Hungary, the 13th-century princess who ended her life prematurely from severe austerity imposed on her by her spiritual director, the appalling Konrad of Marburg, but who is remembered less for being a victim of abuse than for her charity to the poor of her day. The readings are St James on faith and works and the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats - no ambiguity there. 

Appropriate because a couple of days ago my friend Peter - I would say something like, 'Who has a conflicted relationship with the Church', but who doesn't - posted on LiberFaciorum a link to a story about a young woman in the US calling various churches to find out 'if they would help a starving baby', and discovering that quite a lot allegedly wouldn't. Cue all Peter's atheist friends weighing in to say how disgusting it was. I thought the article was quite thin: it didn't quote what Nikalie Monroe was actually saying to the churches she called, what information she gave them, or what their actual response was in any detail. I decided rashly to comment that, if I'd had such a contact out of the blue my first response would be to ask where the caller was: if they were local, I would visit and take it from there, and if not direct another church (and perhaps whatever other agencies were available) in that locality. Such a situation has certainly never happened to me and I have to say were it to my first thought would be how odd it was. The response to my reflections was not thoughtful, and reinforced what one should always remember, that hardly anyone ever engages in this kind of discussion to learn anything, genuinely to exchange ideas, or have their minds changed. It was very clear that the atheists felt the Church should respond to such a request in a way they would not dream of doing themselves. OK, it's appropriate for individuals to behave differently from organisations, but I can tell you absolutely that secular agencies and charities would not respond to unsolicited and uninvestigated requests any more than a church would. In fact I would guess churches are probably more likely to.

At Swanvale Halt church we're talking about setting up a hardship fund: a member of the congregation has a significant amount of money available and thought that might be a useful way of employing some of it. But if I think of the times I as an individual have ended up giving support to people it's almost always ended badly. I have given what must be many hundreds of pounds to Mad Trevor to tide him over crises, always with the assurance that he would reimburse me one day: when he got his substantial payout from the Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority last year, there was no talk of me getting a penny of it. Not that I ever expected it, I mention it only to make the point that this is what charity is like. I have subsidised people I should not have: one case I recall I finally called a halt to after about a week during which I was giving him up to £40 a day, with the result that he screamed at me in the street: 'What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Call yourself a Christian?' a line I knew was coming. What I was doing, I later realised, was merely supporting him in his addictions, and the people I really needed to apologise to were the local community, not him. Years later he wrote to me from prison to say sorry. And there have been others.

But the only case remotely like that of Nikalie Monroe's experiment that has ever come my way was a woman who I'd come across through yet another hard case - someone my contact had herself given money to and had it all go wrong. This woman called me one Sunday night saying she didn't want money, but had literally nothing in the house to feed her children - could I spare some groceries? I dug everything I could spare out of my cupboards and gave it to her in a bag when she called round. She was, I suppose understandably, awkward and taciturn and tried not to catch my eye. Though I may have seen her about, I might not recognise her, and to my knowledge I have never interacted with her again. 

A Letter

A letter to a diocesan bishop:

We write as your loyal diocesan chapter of the Society of Catholic Priests in regard to the recent statement on Living in Love and Faith issued by the House of Bishops, and we acknowledge your Ad Clerum of the 5^th on the subject. As you remind us there, we remain aware of, and faithful to, our ordination oaths.

We are not all of one mind regarding the substantive issues; we are, however, equally dismayed by the current process.

In the statement, Archbishop Stephen writes that some will find the decision ‘difficult and disappointing’. It seems to us that the word ‘disappointment’ expresses how one might feel opening the fridge to find that the milk had gone off, not the kind of situation in which people’s futures and legitimacy in the work God has called them to do is in question. Not a single word in the statement acknowledges the sense of peril people with a same-sex orientation feel in the Church, as the minority who want them gone seem to wield greater and greater influence. We appreciate that in your letter you went somewhat further in expressing sympathy than the Archbishop felt able to.

The bishops must be aware that referring the matter of ‘bespoke’ liturgies to Synod and requiring a two-thirds majority for change means change will not happen. Consensus is an admirable aim, but there is clearly no consensus in the Church currently, nor is there likely to be, and if we cannot proceed without securing that two-thirds majority in Synod, we will not proceed at all. The bishops cannot seriously believe otherwise. At no point do they express what they want to happen; perhaps, not being of a common mind, they cannot, in which case it might be better to say so and admit that the entire LLF process has produced all it can.

We feel that blessing of a same-sex relationship sanctioned by society at large does not affect the doctrine of matrimony because matrimony is not in question.  We look forward to reading the advice of the FAOC, but at present the argument seems to be ‘a standalone blessing service looks too much like a wedding’, and that is pretty thin theology.

Even if the bar to potential legislation regularising the status of clergy in same-sex marriages is lower, we believe that our LGBTQ+ brethren are left in an invidious position. The bishops cannot be unaware that there are numbers of clergy to whom this already applies. And yet, again, the bishops give no indication of their thinking. The law of the land allows clergy to contract a legal marriage with someone of the same sex just as their parishioners can. The bishops gib at telling them this is sinful, yet they refuse to follow the logic of that.

There may be no consensus, but we feel consensus is not necessary. Difference in practice would not, as we would say, be a breach of Catholic order. No one would argue that orders conferred on a person in a marriage to someone of the same sex are invalid, whether they agreed with it or not. Nor would such an ordained person be causing grave offence to either society as a whole or the great majority of our laypeople. It might be impolitic for them to be appointed to some churches, but then they probably wouldn’t apply to them.

The position resembles that relating to divorce. When your illustrious predecessor Bishop Reindorp was translated to Salisbury in 1973 virtually his first act was to terminate the licenses of 8 clergy who were divorced themselves or married to divorcees. Of course George Reindorp felt he was doing absolutely the right thing and enforcing ‘higher standards’ among clergy than those expected of laypeople, but no bishop would do the same now and there would be outrage if they tried. We have reached an accepted position on that, and this matter seems little different.

Whatever our individual positions in the Chapter, we vigorously reject the idea that ‘orthodoxy’ should be defined as some pressure groups within the Church want, making a person’s attitude to some ambiguous and contested verses of Scripture the prime test of their faith. For us, ‘orthodoxy’ means the Catholic faith as expressed in the Creeds, formularies which many Anglican churches do not even use. ‘In necessariis unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus caritas’. 

Growing Church

At Banvale Church along the way they've finally completed a rebuilding project that's taken twelve years from inception through argument and divided public opinion to triumphant opening. Banvale is part of the Federation of Independent Evangelical Churches and doesn't co-operate with anyone. They won't even say prayers with anyone who isn't also part of the FIEC, but I do know the pastor and many people in the congregation, so I was glad to go along for their big opening celebration on Saturday afternoon as the rain poured down outside. 

I was sat next to an elderly gentleman who I exchanged a few words with once it was all over. 'I used to be an elder here before I moved to Somerset', he said. 'To be honest I'd rather the money had been spent on evangelism', which wasn't what I was expecting. How would you spend that much money on evangelism? I forget how much the new building has cost, but it would pay for an awful lot of leaflets. Maybe a fleet of blimps with Bible verses on the side. You could employ a whole battalion of youth workers, but where would they meet? A home for a youth group and other church-based activities was why the original Banvale church got built. A church gets to a certain point, and a building becomes the most practical option, quite aside from those Christian denominations whose buildings have symbolic and spiritual meanings in themselves. There is a romantic quality to the notion of the Christian Church growing from small house-based group to small house-based group, never acquiring the inconveniences of a physical structure, but it only gets you so far. That's why we have church buildings in the first place.

Mind you, there is an argument that being fixated on growing, beyond a point, is a vanity for a church community. Pastors prove their mettle developing, managing, and bringing to fruition projects, the bigger and more expensive the better; the projects give the congregations and church leadership teams a sense of purpose and forward movement. It makes everyone feel good. But what if a church said, Actually, no, if we're full, let's decant some of us and set up elsewhere? What if it defined achievement not by size but by division? I've heard of it happening, but goodness it takes some discipline, and neither Swanvale Halt nor most Anglican churches is likely to face the question any time soon.

I nodded off during most of the sermon and didn't even notice how long it took. What most pleased me was that in a fairly big congregation of perhaps a couple of hundred people, most of whom seemed to be church members, I could only see two raising their hands during the songs, and one of those was the singer on stage. If that maddening gesture is dying out of Evangelical culture I shall be delighted beyond measure.

I Heart Badbury

Although I have said I wouldn't post here unless there was something definite to post about, and the days since I got back from leave haven't provided a great deal Churchy to comment on - I see no reason to add to the pile of speculation about how Sarah Mullaly will turn out as ABC - I find I have an itch to write a little. At some point I might retread my steps and report on visits to underground Margate or art exhibitions in London, but they are things anyone can find out about easily. Instead today, as I and Mum drove out to eat our fish and chips at Badbury Rings, I spotted a red heart painted on one of the gnarled old beeches of the 190-year-old avenue lining the B3082 between Wimborne and Blandford. So once our lunch was over and Mum relaxed into a doze I went for a walk not over the Rings as usual but to find the Heart. Here it is: it seems a fairly fresh addition, carefully painted into what I suspect is an old mark on the tree. The great Badbury trees are reaching the end of their lives, and already the National Trust has replaced many with hornbeams; a new line is growing behind them to renew their work when they finally die, but the landscape will look very different when they're finally gone.

Lincolnshire (and Bucks): Big Churches and Things In Them

Of course one of my stopping-points in Lincolnshire was the Cathedral, gigantic and splendid. I was glad the presence of the Imp was pointed out, so I could avoid photographing it by accident and taking its baleful influence with me ("that which holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel ..."). I paid my respects to Bd Edward King, whose statue presumably depicts him raising a hand in blessing, but it always looks as though he's just saying hello. And then there was this wonderfully pompous 18th-century clergyman who is surely thinking, 'God thinks I am a thoroughly fine fellow, and who am I to dissent from the Lord's opinion'.

But there was also a range of huge churches in modest places. St James's Louth was first, with its scary paper angels:

Followed by St Botolph's, Boston, and its carved knight who is surely Death:

And then St Wulfram's, Grantham, where the scary artefact is the shrine of St Wulfram itself:

(And then there was St James's Grimsby, 'Grimsby Minster' as it is now known, which I couldn't get into).

All these buildings are almost shockingly big for churches which have no history of belonging to religious communities - contrast Lincs with my native Dorset, where all the big churches - Christchurch Priory, Wimborne Minster, Sherborne Abbey, and Milton Abbey - were all monastic at one point. That partly reflects the medieval wealth of this part of the country, but also some other historical factor that led to these towns maintaining one major parish church rather than a collection of them. Stamford, which I visited on the way home, is different, though just as prosperous once: there are five surviving medieval churches there, out of at least as many again. 

But visiting High Wycombe, where I used to live, this week, I was reminded that the situation was the same there. All Saints' is the only old parish church, and, like the Lincolnshire examples, is bigger than it needs to be. I was pleased this time to find it open, which it hasn't been for some time. 

Was St Catherine present? She was, though all in relatively modern images; from the left, a window at Louth, carved above the choir stalls of the Cathedral, a window in the crypt at Boston which has a good stab at looking medieval, and a statue at High Wycombe, very unusually holding what I suppose is intended as a small globe. How can I not have noticed it in the seven years I lived in the town?

Lincolnshire: Museums

It's time for an annual slew of posts about thing seen on my holiday, this time in Lincolnshire, an area I only knew from a very brief visit many years ago when applying for a job in Barton-on-Humber, the end of the line in ways literal and metaphorical. My museum-visiting didn't go as expected. Lincoln City Museum was closed for refurbishment; Grantham Museum in the process of being reorganised though the general public could still come in and wander about while the staff tripped over each other moving display cases and the only objects were some old bottle fragments, a mocked-up apothecary shop, and Mrs Thatcher's coat; and Stamford Museum, while still shown on my map, closed permanently in 2011. That left Louth, Grimsby, and Boston.

Louth Museum rams a lot into a very small space thanks to some creative layout decisions which lead the visitor up and down a mezzanine which allow you to view properly some of the exhibits mounted on the walls. You have to do some work as you occasionally come across artefacts whose significance is only explained later on, such as the amazing products of a Louth woodcarver which you meet before you discover who he was and what these things are. But it's good fun.

In Grimsby I eschewed the well-known Fishing Heritage Museum in favour of the Time Trap Museum. This is a decidedly odd experience. The Time Trap is underneath the old Town Hall, and you have to ring the bell and be buzzed in by a member of staff who points you down a corridor lined with portraits of mayors and cabinets of municipal regalia and to a staircase which leads into the Stygian depths. 'Creative layout decisions' is barely an adequate description as the visitor ascends and descends stair after stair through a variety of sections illustrating the history of the town - or, as so often happens in these cases, the history of the town between about 1860 and 1950. And a riotous, weird, disreputable history it is, almost as though the designers are making the point that this is the dark reflection of the respectable municipal world of the Town Hall above. There aren't many objects, and what you will remember is the bizarre dioramas of raucous Edwardian theatre audiences, rioting pubgoers, and drunken policemen accosted by ladies of the night, like cartoons rendered 3D, as well as the overall effect. Part of the building was the old police cells, and one of the artefacts is a wall of bricks from the prison exercise yard, scratched with inmates' graffiti.

The closest Boston has to a museum is the Old Guildhall, the home of the medieval Guild Merchant of St Mary, and after the Reformation to the Corporation and magistrates' court. This makes for a rich history, but whereas I normally lament the lack of attention museums play to the buildings that house them, Boston's focuses on it to such an extent that you get little sense of the development of the town beyond, and certainly nothing of its contemporary identity. It's also quite fragmentary, and really needs a guiding hand to bring it all together. 

But the trip renewed my sense of how important museums are, or at least should be. It was striking that when I visited friends on the way home who are liberals, Liberal Democrats, and liberal Christians, on being told I'd been to Boston they volunteered that the town 'gets a very bad press' which didn't surprise me. I expected a nice little market town which it sort of is, but when, amongst the sadly boarded-up shops every town centre is defaced by, you come across a 'Bulgarian Shop' that, a sign tells you, has been closed by the police due to 'criminal activity' being carried out on the premises; and yards away there's a 'Bulgarian Food Store' which seems to have no more than three loaves of bread and half a shelf of canned soup in it; and there's a surprising number of young men standing next to shiny black cars talking into phones in Eastern European-sounding languages; then it isn't really shocking that my friends called it 'the most Brexity town in Britain'. Something has happened here that hasn't happened elsewhere and you wonder what it is. This is not a place at ease with itself. A bold museum with a commitment to interpreting a community to itself might be able to tell something of that story - of how so many Poles and Lithuanians came to be here - without expressing an opinion about it. There are, funnily enough, not that many Bulgarians in Boston, so the story behind the Bulgarian Stores might be one to treat with great care.

Go Tell That Fox

The Borough Deans gathered for lunch yesterday. What the role will mean exactly once the local governmental structures of Surrey go through the solve et coagula of reform over the next couple of years we are not sure. Nor are we sure what the elections to the ‘shadow authorities’ next year will bring, but expect a significant number of Reform councillors to emerge whereas there are hardly any at the moment. And Reform is a new and untried quantity: will it be, and be committed to being, a constitutional party of the Right which operates within the boundaries of the liberal-democratic order, or will it recklessly lay the groundwork for something worse later? How are we to engage with this new situation?

A couple of weeks ago two members of the congregation here who are local councillors were accosted by a member of the public at an event who told them ‘When Nigel becomes Prime Minister there’s a short rope with a long drop waiting for people like you’. Now on one level this is the kind of loose-tongued rubbish people say when they are angry and resentful, but on another it’s part of a worrying violence in public discourse in a country where two MPs have been assassinated in recent years, where such acts are not theoretical and people ought to be careful about what they say. Presuming my congregants' accuser was referring to the leader of Reform rather than a random Nigel we knew nothing of, I ended up writing to Mr Farage, arguing that though he was not in any way responsible for the words of a random supporter, nevertheless he was responsible for the perception of his party and for not using violent rhetoric or allowing it to be used without comment. That seemed to me a reasonable action. This was a situation that came close to home as far as I was concerned, and there was a principle involved that wasn’t exclusively tied to that particular exchange, but to the whole of our public life. I am very reticent about this kind of involvement but I felt a certain weight on this occasion.

Christ got as far as calling King Herod a fox, but his main concern was to probe beneath the surface of what people said and did to the assumptions and deep spiritual structures that produced those words and actions, and in the same way the Church now should not be partisan but try to get people to step back from the noise and think about what is going on and what their responsibilities are – not to expect change from others, but from themselves. How many will listen is another question, but it’s our best hope and our urgent task.