Saturday, 30 March 2013

Champagne and Fireworks?

This is an article I wrote about five years ago: an edited version was published in the Church Times in February 2007.

For several years now, I’ve been bothered by the contrast between how much I love Christmas and how low-key Easter seems by comparison. ‘We are an Easter people!’ was a favourite phrase in Church circles a few years ago. I agree in theory. But I can’t help wondering why, if that is the case, we don’t celebrate Easter better.

Christmas is commercial. Around the central religious festival, the Feast of the Incarnation, there are massive cultural accretions. Christmas means a red, green and gold colour scheme (despite the attempts by John Lewis to sell purple this year); it means cinnamon and raisins in pies and cakes. Christmas means presents, office parties, shop window displays and town centre lighting schemes. It means sending cards and an annual letter, making contact with all the people you have acquired in your address book over the years. It means tinsel, fairy lights, nursery parties, carol singing, school Christmas shows, visits to Santa, visits to relations. Christmas is a social event.

The Church is often quoted at this time of year complaining about all this. Fearful that all this razzmatazz distracts from the central nativity story. I may be unusual in being a priest in the Church of England who loves Christmas. I love the trees, the lights, the food, the drink, the parties, choosing and buying and wrapping present, as well as the nativity (both the school play and the Incarnation of the Second Person of the Trinity).

I (was until recently) a university chaplain. A student came to see me recently, and our conversation turned to the Christmas lights that Durham council were beginning to put up. Suddenly she said, ‘Why can’t Easter be more like Christmas?’ She went on to say that she loved the family focus of Christmas, the cooking that went on, the colours, the lights, and the atmosphere of excitement that marked out Christmas as something special. She wouldn’t describe herself as religious, but said that of course, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without going to church on Christmas day. By contrast, she complained, Easter is much more downbeat, ‘a bit depressing’ with its focus on death and with no buzz about it except that associated with chocolate. The bunnies and lambs and chicks are twee and infantile. Easter comes at a time of year when it is still cold and gloomy and everyone needs cheering up with a good festival, and we give them Lent and Good Friday processions.

When a young, intelligent, occasional church attender bothers to tell us what she would like from the Church, we should listen and take it seriously. Our conversation made me revisit my thinking about the disjunction between how we celebrate Christmas and how we celebrate Easter. My conclusion is that we should welcome with open arms the cultural accretions, the ‘commercialism’ of Christmas. We should learn from the excitement generated by them, and try to replicate that in distinctive forms for Easter. The cultural iconography of Christmas – red, gold, lights, candles, stars, spices – is far richer and more attractive than that of Easter – daffodils, crocuses, bunnies, chicks, chocolate. We need to try to reinvent Easter as a richer, a more culturally resonant, above all a more exciting festival.

None of this is to denigrate the central, spiritual importance of the theological truths affirmed by both Christmas and Easter. But the Christmas story, the Incarnation, is not hidden or threatened by the baubles of Christmas. On the contrary, the trimmings draw all eyes to the central story. They create a sense of expectancy, a true spirit of Advent. Every other year, Christmas stamps portray a religious theme. Every other year, the famous Fenwick’s window display in Newcastle upon Tyne is a nativity. Many schools alternate between nativity plays and pantomimes for their Christmas production. Many people, like the student who came to see me, feel that Christmas wouldn’t be complete without going to church. Everyone will hear Christmas carols at some point in December. The nativity is central to Christmas. It is there in the background even when it is not mentioned explicitly. It is proclaimed to many more people than it would otherwise be because of, not despite, the cultural baggage and festivities surrounding it.

I want us to make the Easter story just as ubiquitous, just as loved, just as owned by so many as the Christmas story. Here are a few suggestions for starters:

1. Let’s make more of Shrove Tuesday. It comes at a cold, dark, miserable time of year. Lent is still a widely recognised and owned cultural phenomenon, but the Church looks depressingly pious unless we balance fast with feast. In the parish of St. Gabriel’s, Heaton, where I was a curate, we built on the expertise and contacts developed through a summer holiday club week by introducing a Mardi Gras weekend. On the Saturday before Lent we held a Mardi Gras children’s activity day, and on the Sunday morning a Carnival Eucharist. Pancake parties are better than nothing, but in this age of foodies they may need to become a bit more sophisticated in some social contexts.

2. I first came across Easter trees in the Netherlands over a decade ago. A few bare twisted branches are decorated with blown and painted eggs, small birds, or anything you like. Ideally the branches are of pussy willow so they already have their catkins, but the decorative twigs you can buy now would also work well. This would make a good family or Sunday school activity for Easter weekend. Decorations could be devised which reinforce the story and are cheerfully bright and attractive (perhaps Mexican crosses and butterflies).

3. I have heard of a cathedral letting off fireworks from its roof at its dawn liturgy. This is a great idea. Fireworks are ideal imagery for Easter. They literally lift your gaze and heart, exploding into dramatic and exultant life. Dawn could be problematic with noise in many locations. Also, the core audience attracted by fireworks, families with youngish children, are unlikely to attend at 5am. But fireworks on the Saturday evening could be a winner.

4. Finally, our Easter morning Eucharist should be seriously distinctive. A note of extraordinary celebration needs to be struck, preferably at the heart of the Eucharistic liturgy. My suggestion is that on Easter day we use champagne as our communion wine. Champagne is part of our cultural shorthand for celebration. Its use chimes perfectly with the Easter message of the reckless extravagance of God’s love, and with imagery of the wedding feast.

Easter Resurrection



This is the sermon I will be preaching at 8am at Belmont and 9.30 at Pittington this Sunday. 10.30 at Belmont is an All Age Eucharist with Baptism, so will be a bit different (and won't have a full text to blog!).


A few years ago, when Noah was about Zoe's age now, just 4 and a half, and Toby was a baby a few months old, we went on holiday to Malta for February half term. While we were there we visited the cathedral. It is fabulously decorated, with a floor full of tombstones with pictures of skeletons in marble mosaic. The ceiling is covered with huge paintings of scenes from the life of John the Baptist. The church is most famous for a huge painting of the beheading of John the Baptist by Caravaggio. But the first thing that caught our attention as we entered through the turnstiles and down the first side aisle was a huge wooden cross, with a massive stone Christ hanging there, with real iron nails through his hands and feet, holding him to the cross. 

Noah stood there for a long time, appalled. We tried to explain why people had killed Jesus. As then, as we finally walked away into the main part of the church, Noah said ‘but it was OK, mummy, because God raised him from the dead’. Yes! It is all going in somewhere. I was very pleased with my parenting skills!

We spent some time looking round the church, greatly enjoying all the skeletons – and then Noah asked to go to see Jesus again, and Phil took him off. They came back after a few minutes, and I noticed that Noah was unnaturally quiet. Phil whispered with that parental urgency  - ‘we need to find a resurrection scene. Noah wants to see Jesus raised’. Well, we were surrounded by paintings, and statues and marble relief panels, so we started looking. 

The church was full of scenes from John the Baptist’s life. No help there. Noah was still eerily quiet. So we went into the museum. Toby was asleep in the pushchair and there were no lifts, so we struggled to carry the pushchair between us up four or five marble staircases. And we glanced around the galleries on each floor with increasing desparation. There must be a resurrection scene somewhere in this church. Noah was very solemn. Phil and I were focused with a kind of intensity, scanning round each room in a matter of seconds. And finally, at the end of a long corridor out in a modern extension, in a room full of huge late medieval tapestries, we found a tapestry of the resurrection. I’ve rarely been so relieved, and the tension just went from all three of us.

That really brought home to me how essential it is that the crucifixion and the resurrection go together. Without the resurrection, Jesus’s death is just meaningless nonsense. It’s just another piece of mindless violence.

Jesus’s disciples didn’t have the comfort of knowing about the resurrection in that first Holy Week.

Good Friday and Easter Saturday were times of utter desolation. Jesus died – deserted by most of his friends, taunted by his enemies, and at the very end he even felt himself to have been deserted by God. His friends and followers went into shock, a kind of numb survival mode.

When I imagine the disciples on Easter Saturday, I always imagine them in total silence. I just can’t imagine them talking. 

Holy week has always seemed to me to be quite wordy, quite chatty, up to Good Friday. Starting from Palm Sunday, we have crowds of people cheering and shouting. I imagine the disciples caught up in the crowd, laughing and shouting, and walking home later that day animatedly talking over the events of the day. And all through that week the bible records Jesus talking, conversations with interested bystanders, Jesus telling parables, and again I can imagine the passionate conversations and earnest discussion that must have gone on between his disciples all day and long into the night. 

But  watching Jesus’ body being taken down from the cross, walking away from the scene, and then all huddled together in the upper room on Easter Sunday morning, I can only imagine them silent. Numb. And the silence growing and growing, taking on a life of its own, until nothing that anyone could say seems important enough to break it. In silence, some of the women got up very early in the morning on the Sunday. In silence, they gathered together the spices and embalming oils that they would need. In silence, they left the house where the disciples were hiding away, and in silence they made their way to the tomb, where they had silently watched Joseph of Arimathea burying Jesus on Friday. 

They weren’t looking for the resurrection. They were going to find a dead body and wash it and wrap it, to feel that they had at least done what they could for him.

I imagine the other disciples stirring and waking as dawn breaks. Remembering as they came fully awake what has happened. The heavy silence continuing, as if it must continue for ever. And then -  the sound of running footsteps. Perhaps a frisson of fear going round the room as they wonder if this is it, is this the guards coming for them? A door crashing open into the courtyard, panting breaths  and thundering feet on the stairs. And then the women burst into the room, panting and shouting and laughing and crying all at once. A sudden confusing torrent of sound and movement – ‘he’s alive!’, ‘we’ve seen him!’ ‘an angel told us’ ‘there were angels there!’ ‘ he’s gone’ ‘he told us to tell you’, ‘he’s alive!’.

Astoundingly, incredibly, the women came back from the tomb that first Easter morning to tell us that Jesus was alive. Most of the gospel accounts agree that the other disciples just couldn’t believe it at first. It didn’t make sense. No-one comes back from the dead. But in the end, they had to believe the evidence of their own eyes. Jesus had somehow broken through death. Death wasn’t able to hold him. Even a huge stone tomb wasn’t strong enough to keep him down.

Jesus’s resurrection brings hope, and joy. The elation and noise and excitement, the excited note of hope of Easter morning contrasts strongly with the silent hopelessness of Friday and Saturday. The resurrection gives us hope that even the most desolate situations in life can be transformed by God into something sparkling and new, something exciting and lifegiving, either in this life or the next.

This is where we can never fully get back into the minds of those first disciples, however much we try to imagine the scenes from the bible. We are always looking back with the benefit of hindsight. For us, Good Friday is good. However much we try to imagine it, we know how the story ends. For us, the cross has become a symbol of hope and faith. We decorate our churches with crosses, we wave palm crosses and stick them on the fridge at home. The first Christians rarely used the sign of the cross. Crosses were still being used regularly to kill people, and were far too painful to be adopted as a badge.

Like Noah and Phil and I in that church in Malta, as Christians we are constantly searching for the resurrection. We see resurrection everywhere. When we look at a cross, it reminds us not so much of Jesus’s death as of his resurrection. We see the message of resurrection in springtime, in a daffodil bulb, and in autumn, in the harvest of all that corn that had to fall into the ground and die in order to grow and multiply. We live life expecting resurrection. Our eyes have been opened, and everywhere we see signs of a God who works through resurrection.

This is the kind of God we believe in, a God who dies and is raised. And because we believe in this kind of God, we have a very realistic faith. We know the depths of evil and cruelty that the world can sink to. But because of the resurrection, we have faith that good will ultimately triumph over evil. Because of the resurrection, we know that nothing, not even death, can separate us from God’s love.

Because of the resurrection, when we look on the darkest moments of life, we have hope that they can be transformed. And that hope gives us the strength to start working to transform them, to work with God to bring resurrection to life here and now.

Mary Magdalene ran from the tomb to tell the others the good news. And through the ages, the church has never stopped doing that. That is what the church is, in essence: not the building, certainly not the institution. We are in the direct line of that movement, that running to tell others, that Mary started that first Easter morning. And down the ages the news has been passed from door to door, from family to family. We are the group of people who like Mary, run from the empty tomb to tell others the amazing news that the God who died for us is also raised for us; that death is not the end; that nothing can separate us from God’s love.

Sunday, 24 February 2013

Schrodinger's Cat Theology? Response to Women Bishops Consultation


 

Response to GS Misc 1042

Women in the Episcopate: A New Way Forward


Thank you for the discussion paper GS Misc 1042, and for the time and energy that has been put into restarting the process towards removing the legal obstacles to women becoming bishops. I shall group my responses firstly in relation to the four propositions, and then give some more general observations.

1.1 I agree with the first proposition, that there is no scope for further tweaking of the measure that was defeated in November.

1.2 I am very relieved to see that this conclusion has been reached as a result of the consultations this month. I, and the many other women (both lay and ordained) who have been in touch with me as Chair of WATCH NE, feel that we had in fact compromised too much in that measure. We were fearful that further tweaks would be proposed, compromising the purpose of the legislation even further. I cannot see any way in which the defeated legislation can be further adapted in a way that would be acceptable to both those who do and dont wish to see women admitted to the episcopate.

1.3 Whilst I would like to see women admitted to the episcopate as soon as possible, my main concern at this point is that the sense of urgency should not mean we rush into unwise legislation.

2. 1 I also endorse the second proposition, that questions around jurisdiction should not be re-opened.

2.2 Having women as bishops is not an end in itself. It is a necessary but not sufficient means to the end of demonstrating, by our ordering of our church, that the Church of England believes men and women to be equally and jointly made in the image of God, and to be theologically in the same category.There is, therefore, simply no point in allowing women to be bishops on different terms to men, or in redefining what a bishop is in order to let women in. That would not be 'removing the legal obstacles to women becoming bishops', it would be only allowing women to dress up like bishops whilst retaining a separate class of 'real' bishops. I would prefer us not to enact any legislation at all than to enshrine discrimination in law, which is why I would have voted against the proposals that were before Synod in July 2012.


3.1 I also think there is a good deal of wisdom in the third proposition, that the whole 'deal' should be on the table at one time. I hope very much that this will in fact be a simple matter, as a single clause or similar measure (as has been used in every other Province of the Anglican Communion) should be all that is needed.

3.2 But whether or not that point is accepted, I do agree that the uncertainty surrounding the prospect of an unseen Code of Practice was very unhelpful in debating the defeated legislation. Certainly in my experience of going to Deanery Synod debates about the legislation, with Sr. Anne Williams, we found that this uncertainty about the Code caused the most disquiet, regardless of peoples views on the substance of the proposals.

4. 1 I am instinctively drawn to the first part of the final proposition, suggesting shorter, simpler legislation. Anything other than a simple statement that both women and men can have a vocation to the episcopate inevitably clouds the statement of equality before God that is the primary purpose of this legislation. However, brevity is a means rather than an end. I would prefer lengthier legislation that spelled out equality, to a brief measure that enshrined discrimination.

4.1.1 I also note that several years ago, simple legislation (popularly known as a single clause measure) was the preferred option of Forward in Faith as well as groups such as WATCH. I remember being asked by New Directions to write an article explaining why I supported a Single Clause Measure, just as they did, but for different reasons. At the time I recall suggesting that perhaps they wanted a Single Clause Measure because they thought it would be more easily defeated, but I was assured that it was because it was the only theologically coherent way forward. I hope, therefore, that such support for this proposition is reflected in the responses you receive to this consultation.

4.2 The second part of the fourth proposition is less clear than the others, and there are two elements of it which I think are dangerous: the references to a sense of security, and to no new elements of compromise.

4.2.1 First, whilst I accept that 'a greater sense of security....[of] an accepted and valued place in the Church of England' for those who do not accept the ordination of women is desirable, I do not agree that this is a viable aim for this legislation. There are three reasons for this.

4.2.2 How can we measure a 'sense of security', or whether it has been achieved?
It can only ever be measured by whether those involved say it has been given. This raises several subsequent concerns.

4.2.3 Those opposed to the ordination of women are by no means a homogenous group, so does every individual need to feel more secure? Or just a majority of the minority?

4.2.4 More fundamentally, at least some people demonstrably oppose women's ordination on theological grounds that are at best mistaken, and at worst heretical. I refer you, for example, to the speech in November's debate which argued that women should be subordinate to men based on a supposed inherent subordination within the Trinity: a view clearly beyond the bounds of orthodox Christian belief. So if we are to aim for a 'sense of security' of being 'accepted and valued' within the Church of England, we need to be very clear indeed that it is the people who hold these views who are 'accepted and valued', not the views themselves. Or, if certain views contrary to the mainstream doctrine of the Church are to be declared 'accepted and valued', then we need to be very clear indeed which ones these are. Surely the purpose of this legislation cannot be to assure everyone, whatever their idiosyncratic views on creation, the Trinity, the Bible, or whatever else underlies their belief that women cannot be ordained, that those views are all necessarily 'accepted and valued'?

4.2.5 It is also perhaps worth saying that we, as women clergy, would also value a sense of security. The debate so far has consistently given the impression that the emotions of those pained by our ordination are privileged above our emotions. We are apparently meant to be so grateful to be allowed to be ordained, that should be enough. Yet the majority of women will not, of course, become bishops: most do not have that vocation.  Simply allowing a few women, grudgingly, to be bishops will not of itself make all lay and ordained women feel fully 'accepted and valued' within the Church of England. We would like our theological worth and equal status as children of God to be fully affirmed. It may be that this is fundamentally incompatible with those who do not agree that this is the case also feeling fully affirmed. If so, the Church will have to choose which is the more important statement to make.

4.2.6 Furthermore, in saying that we want to achieve a 'sense of security', we are reliant entirely on those who do not want this legislation to be passed to inform us of what they deem to be acceptable. A personal anecdote may illustrate why I think this is a foolish way to proceed. Last autumn, when the 'Appleby Amendment' was published, I spoke with many members of Synod, both for and against the principle of women's ordination. In one long conversation with a member of the Catholic Group in Synod, he told me that the Group had discussed the legislation and had agreed that they could neither vote for the legislation, nor abstain, because the first clause said that women could be bishops. They could, however, live with it if passed, he said. Others will have heard similar comments.
Yet none of the Catholic Group in Synod ever said publicly that they could live with this legislation if passed, despite intending to vote against it, a statement which may well have influenced some uncertain voters to vote in favour. Nor did they make it clear that whatever the 'provisions', they would vote against the legislation because it said women could be ordained. I cannot see how it would ever be in the interests of those who genuinely do not believe that women can or should be ordained to admit that yes, they have been given a 'greater sense of security' by new proposals. Simply by saying that they dont feel secure, the status quo of the current impasse would be maintained.
I therefore think that this is an illusory goal for this legislation to aim at.

4.3. I am deeply concerned about the final part of proposition 4b, 'not involving...any new elements of compromise on matters of principle' (my emphasis). The members of WATCH NE who have been in touch with me about this matter have been unanimous that they now feel that the defeated legislation went too far in compromising the essential matters of principle involved. All of them, and the vast majority of other clergy and laity in this diocese with whom I have spoken, feel that since the compromise offered in November was rejected, only the simplest possible legislation will now do. I would be deeply disturbed to think that elements of compromise offered last year in the spirit of a bilateral stretching a hand over the abyss were to be taken as the basis on which new legislation could be built.
Again and again in recent months, clergy and laity have said to me that, after the first shock of the legislation being defeated, they felt their eyes had been opened to just how much of a dirty compromise it had been. 'Appeasement' is a word that has been used. Since we were not met half way those opposed to womens ordination have made no compromises, in the final outcome - the mood is no longer to offer those compromises that were rejected. So I would be minded to accept this element of the proposition only with the deletion of the word 'new', italicised in my quotation above.

5.1 Following on from point 4.3.5 above, I wonder if the only way to resolve the current impasse is to destabilise it. Those who are fundamentally opposed to the ordination of women are currently relatively happy with the status quo, and have no incentive to change it. One creative way forward, therefore, would be to change the status quo.

5.2 This could most simply be achieved by allowing General Synod to debate, in July, the currently parked Diocesan Synod motions asking General Synod to rescind the 1993 Episcopal Ministry Act of Synod.
This would test the mind of Synod on whether the Act of Synod is still fit for purpose. If it were rescinded, we would then be able to live out the experiment of how we get on as a church without what is widely perceived to be a legislative safeguard. It would be a relatively low-risk experiment, as it would be fairly straightforward for the Synod to reenact a similar piece of legislation if it were in fact found to be necessary. But if we were able to find ways of living and working together without such a Code of Practice, that would put us in a much better position to find a new way forward together.

5.2.1 At the same time, allowing these motions to be debated would go some way to restoring trust in the synodical process among Diocesan Synods. One of the most damaging side effects of the stalling of the legislative process in November was the fact that the Diocesan Synods felt ignored and sidelined by the process, having been asked their opinions and then ignored. Rushing to start another central process and telling those Diocesan Synods who have been waiting patiently for years for their motion to be debated that they are once again to be ignored, would be both rude and a lost opportunity.

5.3 One other solution that has been canvassed has been rescinding the relevant clauses of the 1992 Measure, and leaving some parts of it intact. I do not believe this is a good way forward.

5.3.1 I have spent some time analysing the initially attractive simply delete clause 1.2 of the 1992 measure option. (Nothing in this Measure shall make it lawful for a woman to be consecrated to the office of bishop). At first glance this possibility has the advantage of simplicity, and of leaving largely intact a package of provisions that those who are opposed can manifestly already live with. However, it is more complex than it at first appears.

5.3.2 In the first place, it would not be enough to simply delete clause 1.2 of the Measure. Clause 2 would also need to be deleted (this clause has never in fact been used, and is a dead letter since it deals with dioceses being officially free of women clergy, which none now are).

5.3.3 Clause 3, allowing parishes to pass either Resolutions A or B, could in theory be retained. However, whilst this might satisfy congregationally-minded parishes who simply wish to avoid having a woman incumbent, it would, when there was a female diocesan bishop, be meaningless for those whose objection to women bishops is based on an ecclesiology in which the local priests ministry is derived from that of the bishop. It would also not cater for those who wish to ensure they have a male priest with a male pedigree (i.e., not ordained by a bishop who is a woman). So in fact this would presumably need to be re-written, and we would end up with something not dissimilar to the legislation that was defeated in November (which proposition 1 says is not workable).

5.3.4 Clause 6 of the Measure, which covers the discriminatory discharge of certain functions, would also need to be removed. Clause 6 explicitly says that sex discrimination against a woman in respect of ordination, licensing or appointments is legal. This is of questionable legality following the most recent Equality Act. It is also inconsistent with the various pronouncements of the House of Bishops that the appointments processes will be blind to peoples views on this matter.

5.3.5. Even if all these changes were made to the Measure, and it simply said that women could be ordained and that parishes could choose to opt out of having us as their priest (but not their bishop), the question remains what would happen with the Act of Synod. It would not work in its current form, but it is hard to believe that tweaking it would lead to a better result than the legislation that was rejected in November (which was essentially an attempt at just this). So essentially this route is ruled out if we accept the first proposition of GS Misc 1042.

5.4 Moreover, my experience of the process so far has made it much clearer, to my mind, that this is the time for the Church of England to say that any notion that womens orders are still in some sense provisional (the notion of a period of reception) is at an end.
Ordination is ordination. Whatever individual people may believe about the desirability, or validity, of womens ordination, the Church of England, by ordaining women, has made a public statement that it is a church that ordains women. As a church we enact as much as declare our theology, and in ordaining women we have made clear that is our orthopraxy, our orthodoxy.

5.5 There is no integrity in a Church ordaining women and then trying to hold together, at an institutional level, the belief that we both are and are not ordained. This is Schrodingers Cat theology: are women both ordained and not ordained simultaneously until someone lifts the lid of the box to see? And is our state of ordination then determined by the beliefs of the beholder?
Individuals are free to believe that I am not ordained. And an individual believing that is of course as accepted and valued by God, and by the Church of England, as anyone else. But the Church of England has ordained me, and cant therefore enact with integrity the view that I might not be ordained.

5.6 I believe that much of our current impasse is a result of the muddled theology that led to the hasty passing of the Act of Synod, without anything like the scrutiny and consultation that every other step of this journey has undergone. The Act of Synod opened the way to rejecting the ministry of your diocesan bishop based on his beliefs, and that was a profoundly un-Anglican and certainly un-Catholic innovation. There must be no repetition of this in any new way forward.

5.7 Finally, I reiterate the point made above, that simple legislation opening the episcopate to women and men without any qualification or formal arrangements for those opposed to this move has been enacted in every relevant province of the Anglican Communion. I cannot see any reason why the case of the Church of England need be more complicated or more compromised. There is considerable experience among Anglican bishops overseas in managing the resulting tensions carefully and gracefully, and the group would do well to consult this body of available expertise.

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Book Review: 'The Church's Other Half''



The Church’s Other Half: Women’s Ministry   
Trevor Beeson
SCM Press, 2011



Review commissioned for the Journal of Anglican Studies, forthcoming.

It has been a poignant experience reviewing this book at a time when the Church of England has failed to finish the job, charted here, of recognising men and women as equal by opening the episcopate to them. Trevor Beeson points out, in his conclusion, that ‘it will be necessary for men in positions of leadership to listen carefully, humbly and positively to what their women colleagues may propose’. It seems, however, that members of the Church of England are not yet capable of this, or willing to do it. Beeson’s warning that ‘men will not find it easy to relinquish power’ rings as true today as ever.

Beeson begins this very readable book with a romp through the history of women’s ministry, and the development of theologies which served to exclude and oppress women. This section covers a great deal of ground very quickly, discussing the biblical record, the early church and the medieval church. Much of this will be familiar except to those coming new to this topic, but it is helpful to have it gathered together in so succinct and accessible a form. Beeson then summarises the more recent history of debates surrounding women’s ordination, from the late nineteenth century to the decision of General Synod in 2010 to send legislation to open the episcopate to women to diocesan synods for their approval. The book is well researched, and includes material that was new even to this seasoned campaigner on this issue.

It is salutary to be reminded of the long history of the movement for women’s equal representation in the church. Beeson does not limit his story to specifically ministerial roles for women. Since many were unable to have their gifts used within the Church structures, they instead used their talents and energies in many and varied ways, and it is refreshing to have such variety acknowledged. The central section of the book consists of a series of chapter length biographies of notable women, beginning with a chapter on Florence Nightingale. She of course is rightly famous for her great contribution to raising nursing standards in the Crimean war: but originally wanted to work for the Church. She wrote to Dean Stanley of Westminster Abbey ‘I would have given her [the Church] my head, my hand, my heart. She did not know what to do with them’.

Other chapters tell the stories, for example, of Octavia Hill and Henrietta Barnett, working to improve housing conditions for the urban poor of Victorian England; of Mary Sumner and the founding of the Mothers’ Union; of Cecil Francis  Alexander and other hymn-writers; and of Josephine Butler and her campaigns to improve the safety and prospects of women caught in prostitution.

The story of the journey towards women’s ordained ministry begins with the rediscovery of the role of deaconesses in the modern church, first in Germany and then with the appointment of Elizabeth Ferard and Isabella Gilmore as the first deaconesses in the Church of England.

But the clear star of Beeson’s account is Maude Royden. He writes: ‘If a patron saint of women’s ordained ministry in the Church of England is ever required, the choice will have to be Maude Royden. A woman of vision and of remarkable gifts of leadership and communication, she had outstanding courage’. Maude read History in Oxford, but was not allowed to graduate because of her sex. She was closely involved in the campaign for female suffrage, and became pulpit assistant at the City Temple in 1917, her preaching creating a popular and media sensation. Women were not permitted to speak in Church of England churches, pending the results of a committee set up in 1916 to report on the matter, but in September 1918 Royden gave a midweek address at St Botolphs Bishopsgate, and led the Good Friday three hour service despite the bishop’s protests (which succeeded only in moving the service out of church and into the parish hall). She then, with Percy Dearmer, founded an early form of Fresh Expression, known as ‘The Guildhouse’, which attracted a congregation of hundreds for the next two decades. She was also well known as an itinerant preacher and speaker, notably on the side of the coal miners in the 1926 strike, and campaigned for women’s ordination all her life.

Further chapters recount the continuing struggle for women’s full acceptance within the official structures of the Church. Again, this was much a much wider issue than simply ordination. At the turn of the twentieth century, women were deliberately excluded from the membership of PCCs, and from deanery and diocesan synods. In a debate on whether women could be elected to the newly formed PCCs, in 1898, ‘the Archdeacon of Exeter expressed his belief that women were not made by God to engage in public discussion...another archdeacon was of the opinion that “the most truly feminine women would refuse to seek office”, and that others who were elected would make the councils “weak instruments in public affairs.”’ In 1903 an early forerunner of General Synod was formed, the Church Representative Council, and women were neither permitted to be members nor to vote for the lay delegates. Women’s full participation in the structures of the Church of England has been a very slow and hard won process, resented at every step of the way.

The final chapters give potted biographies of some of the most outstanding women currently serving the Church, and a whistle-stop tour of key trends and voices in modern feminist theology. As with the historical material, this latter is a useful introduction to the subject and a convenient gathering together of material that it is often hard to find in one place.

So this is a useful and very readable book, with some fascinating stories and some enjoyably appalling quotes from the ghosts of misogyny past. Nevertheless, it is a melancholy read. Repeatedly, the biographies of these great women end with them in failing health, mentally and physically exhausted by the combination of their hard work for the people of God, and their constant battles to be allowed to serve, speak or even exist as women in the Church. As the Church of England gathers it energies, wearily, to again tackle the question of allowing women to become bishops, Beeson’s history reminds us of the forebears on whose shoulders we stand, and of the debt we owe them to get this right.


Sunday, 17 February 2013

Contemplation: Psalm 1


My sermon notes for the first in our benefice sermon series for Lent, Wisdom from the Psalms.

Psalm 1
Can be sung to any 8686 tune (suggested: Richmond)

O blessed, blessed is the one
Whose walk is out of step
With wickedness and mockery
Who does not sit with sin.

O blessed, blessed is the one
Who hears God with delight
Who day and nightly contemplates
The law and love of God.

That one is like a fruitful tree
Whose roots stretch deep and firm.
Its planted by a living stream
Whose waters never fail.

Its leaves stay green in hottest drought
Its roots remain secure
And in due season blossom blooms
And fruits grow ripe for all.

The wicked are like fallen leaves
Tossed all ways by the wind
They cannot stand when judgement comes
Not rooted in the Lord.

I love this image of contemplating God, contemplating the Bible, being like a tree planted by a spring. A spring whose waters don't fail or dry up even in the hottest summer; the roots of the tree have stretched down and found a source of water that is always reliable, and so the tree flourishes.

First, think of those roots, as an image of contemplation. They grow down and seek out the water, and then drink it up, without any particular effort. They aren't working hard or doing something difficult, they are just doing what comes naturally.

The water - God - is there. The roots don't have to summon it by an effort of will, or do anythingbin particular to be worthy of it. They are just there, in the right place, being themselves. And the water is ther, being itself.

We dont have to work hard at contemplation, just be there, present with the text, drinking it in. The water is there; contemplation is being where it is. The refreshment happens naturally.

Contemplation may not be something we are very used to as a method of prayer or as a way of approaching the Bible. We might think of it as something that only particularly holy people do, monks and nuns perhaps. But is something we all do in the other contexts, so we know we can manage it.
Imagine, for example, being on holiday. You have a caravan or a cottage overlooking the sea, the curve of the bay. You arrange your deckchair so you have a lovely view over the bay, and just sitting there drinking in the view - the sound of the sea, perhaps the occasional seagull, the smell of the salt air, the softness of the warmth around you - for maybe twenty minutes or half an hour.

You feel totally relaxed, restored. Then, after half an hour you may want to do various things. You may want to carry on sitting there all day. You may want to keep sitting there, but go and get your knitting or crossword or novel as well. You might want to go down into the view, to go for a walk on the beach or have a swim. Or if you're like me, you might think thats quite enough sitting around and you want to get up and head into town to see the sights or visit an improving museum.

All these are OK! Contemplation feeds you, gives you energy to do other things. You aren't expected to do it all day, or not do other things too. The psalm makes the point that the tree image also include seasonality: bearing fruit in due season. The watering of the tree is not simply so it feels happy and content, but results, at times, in its bearing fruit.

So this is what contemplation is like: just being there with the view (God, a Bible passage), drinking it in. It isn't an effort of will, and it doesn't necessarily result in particularly holy feelings or actions, at least not immediately. It just is.

This is what Jesus was doing in the desert. So he is so deeprooted in the scriptures, after 40 days of just being with God, that not even those spectacular temptations can shake him. Or, in the coming weeks, a crowd threatening to throw him off a cliff: or the reality of his crucifixion.

The final image in the psalm contrasts that rootedness with chaff: or, in my paraphrase, fallen leaves. The contrast is with waste material, light, blown by the wind. With many a conflict tossed about, in the words of the hymn. The contrast isn't primarily between those who do and don't sin, but those who are and aren't deep rooted. The wind blows everyone, and the wisdom of this psalm is that we should seek to be deep rooted, anchored in and fed by the contemplation of God.

Wisdom is presented here not as having the right answers, or even doing the right things, but having your roots in the right place.

Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Snowdrop Saturday


Come and see the beautiful snowdrops that carpet St. Laurence's churchyard!
They are growing well, so if you are anywhere near Durham put this date in your diary now:


Saturday
2nd March 2013
11am – 2pm


Tea, coffee & cakes

See the historic 12th century wall paintings dating from around the time of King Richard 'the Lion Heart'

12pm & 1pm: Presentation on "Saint Laurence's Church in its landscape"

Explore this wonderful historic church, see the tomb of the mason who crafted its Norman arches (and Durham Cathedral's Galilee Chapel), learn about planned repairs to the fabric of the church.

Photographic display.


See www.saint-laurence.org.uk for further details.