While studying the life and times of Joan of Arc for a lecture I was giving, I was reminded of one distinctive feature of Western mediaeval society.  The whole of that society was held together through a complicated system of patronage.  Power was not only possessed by those who commanded the most soldiers, it was also exercised by those who possessed the legal and traditional right to put others in positions of power.  To possess the power of patronage was to control others and to be the focus of influence right across society.  Joan of Arc was only able to make headway in her short meteoric career having persuaded individuals possessing the power of patronage to back her. 

Patronage, the right to raise up or cast down another person, is still a power that we find in our society.  The Church of England is one contemporary institution that still openly exercises the power of patronage in its affairs.  Arguably this manifestation of patronage is less salient than it was in the days of Jane Austen when Mr Collins, in Pride and Prejudice, used all his charm to flatter his patron, Lady De Bourgh for the right to occupy a particular vicarage and the substantial income that went with it.  My old parish in Gloucestershire was under the patronage of a Cambridge college and its endowed income of £800 was sufficient in Victorian times to keep a vicar in style.  Other parishes were worth a quarter of this and the vicars who occupied lesser posts scrambled to survive, like Mr Quiverful in the Trollope novels, in a permanent state of genteel poverty.  It was no fun to live in a falling down vicarage with inadequate resources to heat the building or keep out the rain.

The traditional power of patronage that was exercised by bishops and others over the parishes of England was arguably the greatest source of power that they possessed.  Keeping on the right side of this power was perhaps the only way clergy had to escape out of abject poverty into a position of relative affluence.  A black mark against your name could mark your record for ever and prevent you ever finding a post which would keep you in reasonable comfort.  Clergy were rightly in awe of those who had this power to create or destroy a career and a livelihood.

Anthony Trollope’s novels are also, in many ways, an exploration of the way that the exercise of patronage power was exercised and experienced in Victorian times.  Today things have changed for the better.  In the first place, stipends of the full-time clergy below the level of Archdeacons and Deans are largely the same.  When I was ordained fifty years ago, there were vicars in some parishes earning seven times the level of their curates and living in far superior accommodation.   Inflation has destroyed these differentials of income.  A second change today is that posts are now mostly advertised in the church press and the appointments system is far more open.  A transparent interview process takes place for most posts, even for bishops.  But, as a recent letter in the Church Times points out, the exercise of patronage is an issue that is still a live one as we ask questions about how Bishop Peter Ball was elevated to Gloucester in 1991.  It transpires that two other dioceses, Norwich and Portsmouth, had both refused to consider his candidature on the grounds of Ball’s known predilection for the company of young men.  The CT letter from the retired bishop, Colin Buchanan, hints at political interference in this appointment.  Patronage on the part of the ‘great and the good’ was thus apparently allowed to override normal checks and balances.  To become a diocesan bishop in 1991 did require impeccable references.  One of those who provided such a reference had to be his Diocesan bishop, the then Bishop of Chichester, Eric Kemp.  Are we to believe that Bishop Kemp had no insight or knowledge of the rumours around Peter Ball?  Kemp’s legacy of having allowed Bishop Ball’s translation to Gloucester and later obstructing the police enquiries into his conduct have left a mark against the bishop’s historical legacy which is unlikely ever to be erased.

The power of patronage in the church may be indeed weakening in the way that democratic processes reach further into the management of the church.  And yet, even as it weakens, we need to have a full awareness of how important a role patronage has played in the church in the very recent past.  In some dioceses all posts are advertised, even for senior clergy such as archdeacons and residentiary canons.   Other dioceses, such as Chichester, appear to advertise relatively few of their posts.  Most appointments seem to be done ‘in-house’.  For one clergyman at least, this near total episcopal control over livings in Chichester has been experienced as an abuse of power.

Among the many documents released by IICSA in the course of its hearings was a witness statement by one Fr. Nicholas Flint, a Chichester incumbent. His testimony strongly criticises the way he felt he had been treated by the diocese.  His complaints directly and indirectly touch on issues of patronage power.  Flint had for a long time felt drawn with others in the diocese to support Peter Ball after he was cautioned in 1992.  The eventual conviction of Ball in 2015 and the revelation of the full extent of his offending left him and other supporters in considerable confusion and dismay.  His self-description was that of being ‘collateral damage’ to the whole sad affair. Eventually he obtained an appointment to see the Bishop of Chichester, Martin Warner, in October 2015 and he hoped to receive some pastoral care and support.  He needed some understanding for all he had suffered in trying to respond to local perpetrators and victims who were part of the wider abuse scandals in the diocese.  He was also looking for a possible move within the diocese after being in the same post from 21 years.  The Bishop stated, in Flint’s words, that ‘he did not have anything for me in his diocese’.  Whatever else was being communicated, this declaration by the Bishop is of interest because it indicates that the Bishop regarded himself at the sole dispenser of patronage in the diocese.  This old-fashioned approach to the filling of appointments also runs counter, according to Fr Flint, to one of the recommendations of the Archbishop’s Visitation to Chichester Diocese a few years earlier.  I have no figures on the dioceses where a bishop could make such a statement about appointments, but I would hope that these dioceses are now firmly in the minority.  Centralised control of the power of patronage may be one of the factors that had helped to create the Chichester ‘scandals’ in the first place.  It is strange as well as regrettable that the current Bishop of the diocese has no apparent insight into the possibility that a secretive structure from which outsiders are excluded is also one where malefactors can most easily hide.   The old-fashioned feudal attitudes which exemplified the ‘reign’ of Bishop Kemp have no place in the 21^st century.  The current Bishop of Chichester should be making every effort to transform that culture in every possible way.  The interaction with Fr Flint in 2015 suggests that the old culture of patronage and patriarchal power was then still very much alive in the Chichester Diocese. 

This blog invites the reader to become better sensitised to the existence of a silent power in the Church.  This is present in church patronage.  When used corruptly, patronage power can quickly create situations of abuse, secrecy and rampant bullying.  In the case of the Chichester Diocese, we would claim that any continued exercise of an unlimited patronage by a bishop over a whole diocese is, in 2019, something now totally inappropriate.  The recent IICSA report on the recent history of their diocese, now in the in-tray of the Bishops and senior staff at Chichester, should surely be driving forward a new openness.  Is the Diocese of Chichester to be a place that resists, as the Bishop of Burnley puts it, ‘deep-seated cultural change’? The episode that took place account of the Bishop of Chichester’s study a mere 3 ½ years ago is an example of reactionary attitudes that have no place in a post-IICSA church.  This post-IICSA church is watching and waiting to see evidence of ‘learnt lessons’, transparency and a new penitential atmosphere involving real care by all bishops for their clergy. 

I sat in my college room in Boston and stared at my Bible in dismay. I had just read 1 Cor. 14:33b-35 (RSV):  ‘As in all the churches of the saints, the women should keep silence in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate, as even the law says. If there is anything they desire to know, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church.’ What was I to do with this? It shook me to my foundations.

To understand why this Bible passage so disturbed me, you need to know a little about my background.

It was the autumn of 1971 and the Jesus Movement, a religious revival among hippies and young people, was sweeping the USA. A few months earlier I’d gone to a Bible study at a well-known charismatic church in Philadelphia, and had been ‘filled with the Holy Spirit’. It transformed me. I was a shy child, but became more outgoing and confident. I’d always been a Bible reader, but now the Scriptures seemed pulsing with life and I devoured them eagerly. My ‘baptism with the Holy Spirit’ had had a surprising feature, for a child whose teachers had always commented ‘will not speak up in class’. Instead of beginning to speak in tongues, as was expected, I had stood up and begun to expound the Bible – much to the consternation of the rest of the group and my own surprise.

I had been a Christian for nearly 8 years when I went to the Bible study that summer night, having ‘given my heart to Jesus’ at the age of 9. I’d attended church all my life; my father was a conservative evangelical and a well-known preacher. We were surrounded by theologically literate evangelicals.  I’d imbibed a very high view of Scripture; I had been taught that God’s will is revealed in the Bible and that it is impossible to please God without obeying its teachings. I knew the Reformation principles that the Bible has a plain meaning and does not contradict itself. I had also absorbed a fear of displeasing God by ‘going off the rails’ or ‘compromising’. Compromising what was never spelled out, but it sounded dreadful. As Rachel Held Evans wrote,

         ‘It’s a frightful thing—thinking you have to get God right in order to get God to love you, thinking you’re always one error away from damnation.’

These inbred attitudes co-existed with my new-found joy.

So here was my dilemma. It was not possible for me either to disobey Scripture or to ignore it. But in the past few months it had become clear that I had a gift for teaching the Bible; and only the previous week I had read in Rom. 12:1-11 that those with a gift for teaching should dedicate themselves to serving God with it. How was I to reconcile the command to use my gift for Bible teaching, with the command that women should stay silent in church?

I fell back on two more Reformation principles – that one text can be used to interpret another, and that the Bible should be understood as a whole. The only way out of my dilemma, I thought, was to get to know the Bible really well, so that its apparent contradictions were resolved. I set out on a programme of serious Bible study. For 12 years I read the New Testament through twice a year, and the Old Testament once. When I came to things I didn’t understand I looked them up in commentaries. I acquired a pretty good (though mainly conservative) reference library.

Quite a lot happened in those 12 years. We returned to the UK, I finished my degree in English literature and got jobs first in Christian publishing and then in bookselling; and I joined the Church of England. By 1982 I was on the path to ordination. My conflicts about women and Bible teaching had largely been resolved.

I won’t recount in detail how I came to understand the different kinds of literature in the Bible; the ways it uses imagery; the historical and cultural backgrounds of its writings; and the difficulties of working with translations. All of these helped me to begin the process of sifting first priorities from secondary issues, and timeless truths from their applications in particular times and situations – a process in which I’m still engaged. I expect it to last my whole life.

What is perhaps more relevant for this blog is the emotional and psychological difficulties of it. Although my discoveries about the Bible were sometimes liberating, and occasionally exhilarating, looking at the Bible in this way also felt scary. What if I ‘went off the rails’ and ‘lost out’, as I had so often been warned? Would God be angry? If so, what would happen to me? Just admitting that some passages could not be easily understood at first reading was a big step. And then, if some of it was skewed in translation, and other bits specific to 1st century Rome or Corinth, or 4th century BC Palestine – how was I to know which still applied today? I was not – and am not – prepared simply to say, ‘That was a long time ago and culturally determined, and we know better today.’

These fears and uncertainties produced at times a defensiveness which I often recognise among conservative Christians today. Sometimes, when I engage in social media discussions on BibIe teaching, I am told I need to read my Bible, or that I don’t follow Jesus, or that I’m apostate. This happens when I give alternative interpretations of certain Bible texts, or even when I quote other Bible texts with a different angle on the matter. I recognise the hostility as coming from a deep-seated (and often unconscious) fear that the Bible, their only shield from an exacting God, is being undermined. If they cannot trust its plain meaning, they are lost. I understand that and make allowances.

In my own journey, a breakthrough came when I realised that I became dogmatic on a point shortly before changing my mind. I learned to recognise the signs, and open my mind and heart to the Holy Spirit’s leading.

And now? I still find the Bible a source of life. It points me to a God who is love. And ‘There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.’ *

*1 John 4:16-18

One of the benefits of studying the Old Testament as a student was to have had what is known as ‘source criticism’ explained.   Source criticism is, in brief, a way of discovering the underlying origin of some of the material in the book of Genesis.  It helps to explain some of the anomalies you find there.  You have, for example, a sudden change in the text from a word meaning God (Elohim), as in the first chapter to another quite different word sometimes translated as ‘the Lord’ (Yahweh).  A detailed and close study of the narrative also picks up strange shifts in the story line.  At one moment in chapter six Noah oversees the animals entering the Ark two by two.  Then in the following chapter you find that the author is insisting that seven pairs of ‘clean’ animals entered the Ark. Such contradictions break up the flow of the narrative and must cause problems for anyone who insists that Moses wrote every word.  The ‘source criticism’ hypothesis offers the simple common-sense explanation that the author/compiler is making use of several distinct sources.  This allows us to account for the changing names of God, the contrasting creation stories and the discontinuities that we find in the story of Noah.  The Genesis author was, in modern terms, a ‘cut and paste’ writer who freely used a variety of sources.  There were no rules about plagiarism in those days.

A detailed study of the text of the New Testament also throws up some fascinating observations.  The first three gospels, known collectively as the Synoptic Gospels for their similarities, can be shown to have borrowed material from one another, particularly Matthew and Luke. These two also frequently made use of Mark.  The parallels are so strong that it is suggested that Mark’s gospel was available to Matthew and Luke in its written form.   There is also another hypothetical written gospel of Jesus’ sayings and actions which no longer exists but it is a common source for sections for both Matthew and Luke.  It is given the name Q, from the German word Quelle or source.  The details of these discussions concern us here only as an introduction to the thought that all English prose can be examined when we want to determine authorship or suspect things like copying or plagiarism.   Style, distinctive vocabulary and the use of particular phrases are all tale-tale marks of each individual writer.  We can normally tell when one person is using text that originally was penned by someone else.

Among current producers of English prose are a new group variously described as communication advisers or impression managers for large organisations, including the Church.  They are trained to use words extremely carefully so that the minimum damage is caused to the organisation they represent.  I cannot say that I have made a special study of the press releases and other communications made by these experts, but most of us can recognise their style and distinctive features.  One thing that is abundantly clear is that no ordinary human being ever uses ‘communication speak’ in everyday language.  It often comes over as insincere and even meaningless.  To take one recent example, we have the House of Bishops responding to the IICSA written report.  The Bishops, or rather the anonymous press release writer, came up with the tired cliché, ‘deep cultural change’.  This expression was used alongside other over-used words like regret, learning lessons and shame.

For the bishops to speak about deep cultural change without telling us what this means in practice shows a gross absence of meaningful communication.  To use words in this way suggests that the bishops are ready to hide behind fine-sounding words in order to try and manage their image.  Tired expressions and over-used words fail lamentably to achieve this.  The only people who seem to be doing their job well are the communication/press release writers themselves.  They have done what they are paid to do, produce something that can quoted safely by the media in the attempt to mitigate the crisis of public relations that the Church, especially at the upper level, is facing.

Thankfully the reputation of the House of Bishops is not being wholly judged by the anodyne statements of press officers and the like.   Some of the bishops have broken rank, or so it would seem, to use words that actually mean something.  We have already examined the remarkable words of the Bishop of Bristol and we would claim that her words have never been near a communications officer.  The past week has seen further twitter comments from the Bishop of Burnley and the Bishop of Worcester.  Both of these statements sound like words from real breathing human beings rather the dry product of a communication machine. 

‘It’s about the whole church and about today. There are numerous aspects of our common life that are going to require deep-seated reform’.These are the words from the Bishop of Burnley and he writes as though he means what he is saying.  Absent are the sentiments of ‘learning lessons’ and ‘working for change’ which is regularly trotted out in the official statements.  ‘Deep seated reform’ is potentially a radical idea and, if pursued to its logical end, will involve an enormous amount of work, discomfort and sacrifice on the part of the Church.  Will the House of Bishops listen to these sentiments of its individual members, the cry of solidarity with survivors by Bishop Viv and now a recognition of the need for radical change by the Bishop of Burnley?

Our final prophetic voice from the House of Bishops has given rise to some much-quoted words from John Inge, the Bishop of Worcester.  As someone who suffered at the hands of Peter Ball he knows what he is talking about when it comes to sorting out the past.  His description of the way that the Church had covered up the behaviour of Ball had left a ‘stain’ on the Church.  This is again not a turn of phrase that was written by a communications expert but rather implies, with the Bishop of Burley, that some deep reform is required.

The meetings of the House of Bishops are always private occasions and only official statements (written by comms people) are released to the public.  The three recent expressions of feeling expressed by individual members of this body which have not been through this filter, suggests that the meeting may have been far more interesting than we can know.  Might we not speculate that the bishops are themselves divided in the way they would want to respond to the biggest public relations disaster for the Church, the IICSA report, that has ever appeared?  The language of public relations experts will not be able to undo the damage that has been inflicted on the Church.  As one of the consumers of this output, I would want to say that every time the Church issues statements trying to bury the past with the techniques of public relations methods, it further lowers itself in the estimation of ordinary people.  Am I the only person wanting to scream every time I hear the expression ‘learning lessons’?  This is not the language of compassionate human beings.  That is the very least we expect from our bishops, to be people of compassion.  ‘I am among you as one who serves’ are the words of the master we try to follow.  Let us hear more clearly the words of Jesus in what the church says in its time of real crisis.

The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.  Wittgenstein

I first became aware of the above aphorism some twenty years ago and, like many people, have puzzled away at the implications of its meaning.  I now recognise that these words are very important to take on board but I regret that they were never explained to me early on in my life. They would have been especially useful at the time when I began to study the Bible at university.

Like many theological students of my generation it was not unusual to study the Bible in the original languages.  Hebrew represented a personal challenge. I battled with it for over two years before giving myself permission to drop it six months before my final exams.  Greek was compulsory but New Testament Greek did not hold any terrors for me. I had begun my journey with this language at the age of 14.   Why is the Wittgenstein quotation important in connection with the study of ancient languages and the Bible?  It is helpful because, understanding the quote properly allows to contemplate the fact that ancient languages limit a reader to the cultural limits of these languages.  Hebrew and Greek like every other language are restricted in what they can express.  Every language, including our own, has blind spots which limits it in what can be articulated.

This point about the limits of every language came home to me as I was writing my recent piece on narcissism.  I found myself using the Narcissistic Personality Disorder ‘language’ as a tool to assess the behaviour of some senior churchmen.  I suddenly became aware that the categories of NPD had simply not been available to me twenty years ago.  In other words, I could not then describe the actions of certain churchmen by availing myself of these distinct words and concepts.  My reading about NPD had extended my means of expression.  In the process ‘the limit of my world’ had changed and been enlarged. 

The insight about the way that new languages and words allow one to think new thoughts has reverberated into the way I think about the Bible.  The original authors of the bible text were constrained by the limits inherent in the languages they were using.  There were of course many things that they could say; equally there were many things that they could not say.  Hebrew, for example, has few, if any, abstract words.  It presents its version of truth and divine revelation especially by narrating events, conversations and feelings. 

When I was at school and learning Greek, I had to translate passages of English prose into ancient Greek.  The English passages chosen for this task often consisted of extracts from one or other of Edmund Burke’s speeches to Parliament in the 18^th century.  Like many of his contemporaries Burke was trained thoroughly in the Classics and so was apt to speak in a style reminiscent of the rhetorical language of Demosthenes from the 4^th century BC.   Thus, his English prose was eminently suitable for translation into Greek.  This is something that it would be difficult to do with more modern speeches in Parliament.  This simple point is that that ancient Greek and indeed many other languages cannot embrace the nuance of meaning in much of what we say in 21^st century English.  Our cultural and linguistic horizons have been allowed to grow exponentially from ancient times. 

Returning to the English Bible we need to help a reader, not acquainted with ancient languages, to have a keen appreciation of the way that translation sometimes is impossible to do adequately.  The choice of a word in English may suggest a nuance of meaning that simply did not exist for the original audience.  One of the tasks of good expository preaching is draw out these issues.  In the ‘gay debate’ it has, for example, to be pointed out that there no word in Greek in existence which can translated as ‘homosexual’ in the New Testament.  There are words which describe male prostitution.  A simple neutral word conveying the idea of an individual identifying a preference for their own sex, perhaps in a life-long commitment, does not exist.  One approach to the ‘failure’ of the Bible to address this issue directly is to distort the text and mistranslate passages to speak of things that are not there.  This is dishonest. An alternative approach is to relax into the Biblical text and its supporting culture, trying to pick up the rhythm of the language used which, even in translation, can be heard.  We all need to hear what the Bible does say rather than what we would like it to say. When we read it in this way, we find absolutely no support for modern notions of infallibility or claims for precise historical accuracy in Scripture.  The fundamentalist ‘debate’ is a discussion that would have made no sense to anyone living before the 18^th century.   Just as I was unable to think the ideas around narcissism before I had studied the concept, so the educated person of the early 18^th century simply could not have grasped the ideas of modern politically motivated fundamentalists.

In summary, we can see that the Bible, because of its location in time and culture, is unable to offer decisive backing to many of the modern theological debates that we have today.  Having accepted that Hebrew and Greek set limits to what can be thought and expressed, we are free to explore what these ancient languages, when well translated, actually do attempt to communicate.  I have mentioned the use of story and narrative as a way of communicating truth and this can be done in all languages.  For the Hebrew writer especially, God is largely revealed in the events of history and certainly not in the speculations of systematic theologians.  A second way in which the Hebrew Bible works in a way that we do not always fully appreciate, is through the use of picture or symbol.   Because of our preference for propositional truths about God, a strong cultural bias on our part, we have become desensitised to the many non-propositional statements about God.  God is a consuming fire, he is a still small voice, he is heard in the sound of the thunder.  Such statements may lack precision and eligibility for credal formulae but they have immediacy and connection with the way that most people think and experience.  To take any one of the symbolic statements about God and press it hard to reveal ‘truth’ would do it violence.  Our cultural preference for measurable truth as against image and symbol has meant that we often miss much of what the Hebrew Bible is in fact telling us.  Many people use the Bible only as a mine for proof texts to support whatever is their current passion or preoccupation.  They do not allow it to speak in its own form and idiom because this is so far away from ‘respectable’ theological language.

Wittgenstein’s quote, with which we began this reflection, does two things.  It encourages us to recognise that Scripture is limited, compared with modern culture, in what it can say.  It cannot be said to be the final word on God or theology because language and culture have expanded immeasurably since it was written.  Secondly, if we take the Bible seriously as in some way revealing God’s word, we should be prepared to enter into what it does say.   Allowing for all the limitations of language and the way that ideas are filtered through particular cultural constraints, let us celebrate the richness of the world that is found there in the text.  Let us enter imaginatively into the pictures, the vividness of the description of human joys and sorrows that are encountered.  In short let the Bible be the Bible without claiming for it something that it cannot be, an infallible guide to every scientific, ethical or historical question.  It is what it is, limited in some ways by the constraints of its languages and cultural worlds.  While biblical words and meanings are limited in what they can say, God himself can still be heard in these words.  Other ideas and insights of twenty first century can be added.  This mixture of ideas, the old and the new, can be joined together to reveal truth and reality for our time and culture.

From time to time it is helpful to be exposed to an issue relating to church power in a setting entirely different from our own. After the bomb shells affecting the Church of England in the past two or three weeks, it is salutary to be reminded that struggles over power are found in churches all over the world. ,

The views expressed in this post are entirely those of the author. No court has reviewed allegations that the Rev. Robert H. Malm committed perjury in the relevant legal proceedings.

Some time ago, Stephen graciously allowed me to share my story of non-sexual abuse on this blog. With his permission, I’d like to bring you up to date on this matter.

By way of brief recap, in December 2018, the rector of my former parish, the Rev. Robert H. Malm (“Bob”) of Grace Episcopal in Alexandria Virginia, contacted the police. He allegedly complained that I had threatened him via postings on a family member’s blog, located at http://www.gracealex.net.  Among his accusations were that various words, taken out of context, constituted threats against him and the church.

However, when the police declined to take action, Bob decided to file a request for a protective order with the courts. Apparently, he believed that by doing so he could shut down online criticism of his conduct. He did so with the full knowledge of diocesan officials, to whom he described me in various emails as “sick,” “twisted,” and “dysfunctional.”

To the surprise of many, the trial court ruled in Bob’s favor, despite the fact that he clearly had not met the legal requirement of an “imminent threat of death or serious bodily harm.” Indeed, Bob’s entire time in the courtroom consisted of recitations of irrelevant issues, including him asking me whether I had resigned from the parish vestry. (I did, but only Bob appears to see any connection between that and his claims that that he was threatened.)

I immediately appealed the ruling, and was represented by counsel. During the appeal, Bob was represented by Jeffery Chiow, a Washington DC-based attorney and former parish vestry member. Jeff pursued a strategy predicated on inflammatory rhetoric, including referring to me as a “domestic terrorist.” He also made various inaccurate statements of fact to the court, including that I had:

• Never been licensed to practice law.
• Never served as a police officer.
• Violated the initial court order.

Jeff also attempted to subpoena my mother, dying of COPD, in violation of the law in her home state, which does not permit discovery in cases of protective orders absent prior leave of court. His help was to drag her, complete with oxygen tank and wheelchair, into court, where he hoped to conduct a day-long deposition. However, the relevant local courts quashed the subpoena. Meanwhile, Mom’s attorney shared his view that “this attorney is coming at you with a personal vendetta.”

Meanwhile, numerous emails came to light during discovery, suggesting that Bob had been very active behind the scenes, engaging in what I would describe as a smear campaign. But tellingly, Bob refused to specify in writing which online posts he believed to be threatening, even after the court ordered him to do so. Bob also contacted the police department, asking if there were some way they could force me to quit blogging about our conflict. To the bishop, Bob sent an email telling him that his wife and one of his daughters took the matter far too seriously — an odd assertion for someone who claims to have been threatened.

Most significantly, Bob lied during discovery. (Before you ask, yes, this would be defamatory were it not true.) In his written responses to my attorney’s interrogatories, or questions that must be answered under oath, Bob claimed that my mother, or someone purporting to be her, had repeatedly contacted him to schedule appointments, only to no-show. Leaving aside the fact that Mom loathes Bob and would have no reason to do so, that begs the question: How did a woman, dying and unable to use a phone or email, or to leave her home, contact Bob? I can assure all involved that this simply didn’t occur; nor did anyone claiming to be Mom contact Bob. This is perjury, pure and simple. Yet Bob knowingly signed the statement, required at the end of responses to interrogatories, stating under oath that his answers were true. Moreover, he used a parishioner, Jane Rosman, to notarize the relevant affidavit.

The appeal dragged on interminably, causing my Mom immense anxiety and consternation, evidenced by panic attacks, vomiting and more. I promptly informed the diocesan bishops of Bob’s actions, but did not even get the courtesy of a response.

I also filed a Title IV disciplinary complaint, only to be told in writing that Bob’s conduct is not “of weighty and material importance to the ministry of the church.” Oddly, this letter was marked as “confidential,” despite the fact that such matters are NOT, under the canons, confidential apropos complainants. This leads me to speculate that church officials either are painfully unfamiliar with canon law, or that they wish to reserve solely unto themselves the right to share information about the conflict —something that the previous bishop diocesan, Shannon Johnston, did in a letter to the parish, in which he inaccurately claimed that the matter had been previously investigated an resolved. Clearly, it has not been resolved, and the diocese previously declined in writing to investigate, so one wonders how the bishop was able to make this statement.

Late in the process, I received a settlement offer from Bob and the parish—surely a rare thing when allegations of abusive conduct are involved. (In my many years of practicing law, I never once encountered this situation. Clients were either threatened, or they weren’t, and the cases proceeding accordingly.)

The proposal offered to drop the matter if I would agree to have no further contact with Bob, and cease my online criticism of him. The former was amusing, for I had informed Bob in writing in 2018 that he was to have no further contact with me, either directly or through others. Why Bob’s attorney suddenly concluded that I might want communication with Bob escapes me, and may himself may have difficulty explaining why he felt this necessary.

Notably, the settlement proposal also rambled on for several pages about my removing blog posts, not publicly criticizing Bob’s conduct or that of the church, and more. In exchange, Bob would agree not to make any publicly derogatory comments about me. This I found to be comical, as Bob’s efforts to convince people that I am a “domestic terrorist” had been conducted almost entirely behind the scenes; thus, from my perspective this clause would allow Bob to continue his misconduct unabated.

Finally, after devoting more than $25,000 to legal fees — money I had saved for retirement — and concluding that neither Bob nor his attorney were prepared to conduct themselves in an ethical manner, I dropped my appeal.

As a result, the current protective order remains in effect through January 24, 2020. The provisions require me not to have any contact with Bob or his family — hardly an onerous requirement! I also must remain 1,000 feet away from Bob, his home, and the church during this time. As a result, I protest on various street corners in the city, often carrying a sign decrying Bob’s perjury.

I also continue to blog noisily away, and there is a new disciplinary complaint pending against Bob Malm. My bet is that the diocese will yet again find an excuse to wash its hands of the matter. The Episcopal Church says it wants to be a welcoming, inclusive church, but the fact that it is willing to permit retaliation by clergy against those who complain about possible misconduct speaks to a church that is anything but inclusive and caring.

But the real news is the damage this conflict has wrought on all involved. In the case of the parish, more than one-third of pledging units have left the church, while Sunday attendance is down 17 percent. The assistant rector left abruptly, two years before the end of her contract, possibly due to her unhappiness with Bob’s conduct.

In the case of my family, the harm is profound. My mother’s anxiety, depression, and anger, all a normal part of dying, are greatly exacerbated as she moves into the final days of her life. My same-sex spouse, Mike, received into The Episcopal Church just 15 months before this conflict broke out and married to me there, has renounced Christianity. I have left organized religion, and try though I might, I find I cannot stand to set foot in a church for any reason. Indeed, I attended the Easter Vigil at the church of my childhood, and while people were delightful, and found myself throughout the service fighting the urge to run out the door, never to return.

Many friends from church have abandoned me, and that is fine. One’s true friends remain friends, while those who lack empathy may feel that they have to choose sides, or that they know enough based on Bob’s representations to choose to end our friendship. That is their choice, and while I miss them, I wish them well and believe I probably am better off without friendships predicated on my rector’s approval. I also am sadder but wiser, now recognizing that it is possible for many to be happy, even when within an abusive system.

It also seems jarringly hypocritical that, just the day before I wrote this, Bob and Jeff likely attended the Easter Vigil, where they no doubt recited the baptismal covenant to “respect the dignity of every human being.” How one can reconcile committing perjury in court and bullying a dying woman with this promise escapes me, and I suspect I am better off not knowing the answer.

Meanwhile, I have again filed a disciplinary complaint with the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia over Bob’s perjury, only to have the case dismissed in writing on the grounds that Bob has not been criminally convicted of perjury. That’s a shocking proposition — is one to conclude that any clergy conduct is acceptable unless it results in a criminal conviction? Moreover, more than one priest has been defrocked in the diocese over conduct that is illegal, but for which there has not been a criminal conviction, including adultery with a married parishioner. So why the double standard?

I also note with some wry amusement that while the diocese again insists that I must treat the matter as confidential, the diocese itself violated the confidentiality provisions of Title IV, which went into effect January 1, 2019. These provide that the identity of the complainant must be treated as confidential. Surely, Bob could have readily surmised that I complained, but some effort to comply with church canons would have been reassuring.

Looking forward, I plan to continue to oppose Bob’s misuse of the legal system. I will not renounce my right to speak publicly about my experiences, regardless of the outcome of the current church disciplinary case. My attorney and I also are in touch, and I am evaluating further legal action against the church.

Mom’s days are rapidly dwindling, and she is, in her words, “fading fast.” It saddens me that she is unlikely to see resolution before she dies, but there is nothing one can do about it.

Will I ever return to organized faith? I don’t know, but I doubt it. The sad reality is that clergy misconduct often is like jumping headfirst into an empty swimming pool — one may be able to address some of the harmful outcomes, while remaining unable to turn back the hands of time to repair the underlying trauma.

One of the things that commentators like myself have been looking for over the past few days are reactions to the IICSA report from the House of Bishops.  I personally do not follow individual bishops on Twitter so I have been relying on Gilo and other tweeters to tell me what is going on.  Gilo yesterday noticed one tweet which stood out from all the others.  It was from the Bishop of Bristol, Viv Faull.  It hits the reader between the eyes because in no way is it one that has been written by a diocesan communications officer.  It clearly comes from the heart of the Bishop herself.

The tweet from Bishop Viv can be read by anyone who has twitter on her bishop’s account @Bishopviv1.  It first of all refers to her time in the Gloucester 90-94, a period when our paths slightly overlapped in that I was at that time an incumbent working in the diocese.  She would probably not remember me but I remember her well, not least because women clergy were still then fairly unusual.  The retrospective story we hear now, 25-30 years on, is that these women clergy needed enormous amounts of stamina and resilience to survive in this role. 

Viv Faull next appeared on my mental horizon when she became Dean of York.  I did some digging into her story for this blog when the saga of her confrontation with the bell-ringers at York Minster became public news.  I looked at her story as an example of power and conflict in a large church organisation.  The episode took place at the same time as other cathedral sagas at Exeter and Peterborough.  It was possible to blog on all these stories, as the reviews and reports that were prepared are helpfully published on-line.  A commentator like myself can become informed by taking the trouble to search out these detailed documents.  The York saga was less easy to disentangle from afar.  The basic facts were that Dean Faull dispensed with the services of the entire band of the Minster bell-ringers over a safeguarding matter.  These bell-ringers responded vigorously by organising a boycott which effectively shut down the bells at York Minster for several months.  Without going over the details which I do not have to hand, two things happened.  The Dean, in spite of a great deal of personal vitriol directed against her, eventually won out.  Most of the bell-ringers returned, at the same time submitting to a new strict safeguarding scrutiny.

My readiness to wade in at the time to commenting on this episode at York was partly due to my having a source of inside information.  He was in close touch with the events at York Minster.  From him I learnt that Dean Faull’s cause was a totally just one.  She was completely in the right to take on a nest of vested interests, embodied by the bell-ringer fraternity and their supporters.  Her predecessors had failed to act over known problems and these problems had become more serious over the decades.  Out of this episode I learnt that Dean (now Bishop) Faull is a person prepared at great personal cost to stand up for what is right and provide decisive leadership when it would be so easier to give in and preserve ‘peace’ by covering over the cracks of disagreements.

I give this somewhat prolonged introduction as a prelude to our understanding the purport of the twitter post put out by the Bishop Faull post IICSA.  She refers to what she wanted to say to the Archbishop when, as a deacon in the early 90s, she put up with humiliations and the slights handed out to women clergy at the time.  Without it being spelt out, we must take from her comment that she is closely identifying herself with victims/survivors.  Like them she once found herself at the wrong end of belittlement, ignoring and humiliation on the part of established church authorities.  The two words that I myself selected from the IICSA report, ‘clericalism’ and ‘tribalism’, are also picked out by Bishop Faull.  Referring to these words, she says: ‘These silenced and marginalised me.  It still does.’

Twitter posts limit the those who use them to a relatively small number of words.  It is difficult to imagine how Bishop Faull could have presented more powerfully in her tweet several issues.  First, she appears to be identifying totally with the experience of abused survivors, even though the abuse she personally suffered was in a different context.  Secondly, she is showing herself willing to describe the evil of a culture that ‘silences and marginalises’.  From her experiences in the 90s she can understand the way that institutional power operates against the weak.  The IICSA report would have reminded her strongly of the ways that church authorities have to silence you.  In previous blogs I have spoken of techniques like deference, charismatic power and patriarchal authority.  No doubt Bishop Faull will, at some point, give further commentary on these few words.  Even in their present paucity they give great hope to abuse survivors.

Today as a supporter of abuse survivors, I sense an atmosphere of hope for the future.  It is not just that a member of the House of Bishops has broken ranks by coming out with strong support for the victims of institutional humiliation.  It is that the particular bishop who is doing the supporting is one who truly understands.  She has been there; she remembers all the humiliation and pain of being part of a despised group.  Thus, she can truly represent them to the House of Bishops.  She is of course probably not the only bishop currently ‘breaking rank’ and demanding that the response to survivors is not dictated by communication experts and impression managers.  But, in Bishop Faull, survivors potentially have a new powerful champion who has a track record in firm decisive leadership.  She is one who has suffered not only as a humiliated member of the women clergy, but also as the misunderstood attacked leader.  The ex-Dean of York, is in my book, a worthy ally for the cause of all who long to see the church authorities begin to walk along the path of honesty, justice and transparency.  Will things ever be the same again in the Church of England and the House of Bishops?  The few words written in a twitter feed by a single Bishop suggest that they won’t.  Let us hope that I am right.

The IICSA report on Chichester Diocese and the case of Bishop Peter Ball finally appeared today (Thursday).  file:///C:/Users/Owner/Desktop/inquiry-publishes-report-diocese-chichester-and-peter-ball.htm The rehearsal of events in and around the diocese was a damning and sad indictment of a dysfunctional culture in both the Cathedral and in the upper echelons of the Diocese and the national Church.

I have not read the whole report.  This is partly because much of it seems to be a rehearsing of many of the facts that we have already heard during the IICSA hearings of last March and July.  Also, this blog with its self-imposed word limit, allows me only to look at a few issues.  Two words, however, struck me fairly early on in reading the document.  They sum up many of the issues around the use and abuse of power that operates in the church.  It is the problem of a church and its difficulties with managing power that is at the heart of this blog’s concern.

In the introduction the report spoke of ‘clericalism’ and ‘tribalism’.  Both words speak to us of ways of avoiding fear and vulnerability.  Clericalism operates as a system to benefit one particular group; it will always seek to protect the clergy and promote their interests as much as it can.  It operates like a masonic network and it will naturally always privilege the special rights of the clergy over the laity.  In some settings, clergy will use a coded language to shut others out from their ‘in’ conversations.  The use of these techniques to cement the clerical caste together, is no doubt to make the clergy feel secure.  To be important as part of this group, is to rise more easily above anxiety. 

The tribalism that the report referred to is a variant of the clericalism.  The ‘tribes’ that were identified in the Chichester diocese context were to do with churchmanship interests.  Fellow clergy were seen not as colleagues, but as members of a friendly tribe or a hostile one.  The other side, the ‘them’, might be either lay people or members of a type of churchmanship disapproved of by your group.  The Chichester Diocese for a long period has attracted to itself clergy practising a fairly thorough-going version of Anglo-Catholicism.  This has its own set of cultural and theological idiosyncrasies.  Ranged against this Anglo-Catholic group are a considerable number of members of the other Anglican grouping, those identifying with the conservative group REFORM.  The close juxtaposition of these two versions of Anglicanism, made sometimes for a fractious diocesan culture.  It was all too easy for an incumbent with a loyalty to one or other of these groups to put that loyalty above the needs of a survivor.  A victim of abuse might well not find a sympathetic pastoral response if he/she named a perpetrator who was part of the same tribe to which the would-be helper owed allegiance.   In some cases, such rejection by a priest could lead to the abused individual taking his or her life.

The description of this culture of clericalism and tribalism in the Chichester Diocese is chilling to read about.  No doubt there are tonight many individual consciences that are being stirred to consider whether they could have done anything more to make a difference.     An episode recorded in the report describes the atmosphere at one stage in part of the Cathedral congregation.  This also appears to have been fed by similar tribal elitist assumptions.  During the 90s, and early years of this century, there was some confusion about the precise boundaries in safeguarding responsibilities at the Cathedral.  One notorious abuser, who acted as a steward in the Cathedral, succeeded in avoiding challenge or confrontation over decades.  This was, in part, due to a failure of communication between Diocese and Cathedral.  No doubt, the similar dynamics of tribalism and rivalry between the two were playing their part in this situation of poor communication.  The Diocesan Safeguarding Officer was denied easy access to Cathedral records and other information.  When she finally spoke to parents of boys who had been abused, these same parents found themselves shunned and ostracised by members of the cathedral congregation.  In a comment the report notes that some of the shunners were those who associated socially with the senior clergy at the Cathedral.  Again, we appear to be observing a pattern endemic in the story of church abuse.  The victims often become the enemy because they are upsetting the status quo.  The forces of clericalism and tribalism seem to rally round to support a perpetrator rather than the victims.  It is hard to see how this collusion to defend a guilty party (including Peter Ball) can be broken unless the responsibility for investigation is taken right out of the hands of people thinking tribally.

There are many other points in the report that I am not of course able to cover in a thousand words.  But the criticisms, whether of Archbishop Carey, the central Church authorities or the various officers in the Diocese of Chichester, all seem to come back to the fundamental issue of self-protection and fear.  For Archbishop Carey, there seems, as I have suggested before, to have been a large dose of naivety spiced with a strong instinct to protect and preserve ‘his’ Church.  The same mistakes which allowed so many offenders to roam the Diocese of Chichester unchallenged for so long, hang on this desire to protect the institution and especially those who served it as clergy.  As I suggested in my previous blog, the instinct to do anything and everything to protect an institution will be particularly strong when the same organisation is the one that which gives you self-esteem and identity.  This ‘institutional narcissism’, as we described it, will be especially strong among the top officials of an organisation.  From America we have been hearing a lot about ‘no collusion and no obstruction’ on the part of the White House when faced with the facts of the interference by the Russian state in the American elections.  Any admitting of Russian interference in the elections would have the effect of undermining the legitimacy of Trump’s presidency, quite apart from uncovering criminal behaviour on his part. In the narrative of the IICSA account we catch glimpses of another organisation – the Church- that is overwhelmed with fear rather than confidence.  This observation could be made about the entire Church of England at present rather than just the Diocese of Chichester.  The narrative of secrecy, cover-ups, failures of communication is a language of fear and even the collapse of confidence.  Once again, we beg the Church to come out of such behaving as though it is scared of the truth.  We implore it to face openly the traumas of the past and work with men and women of goodwill to build a new future of honesty, truth and openness.

Some months ago, I decided to offer to the International Cultic Studies Association a paper on ‘institutional narcissism’ for their gathering this July in Manchester.  The proposal was accepted on the basis of a three-hundred-word synopsis.  Since then I have been trying to work out exactly how the paper should run.

The outline of my idea is this.  Narcissism (in its full-blown version, Narcissistic Personality Disorder NPD) is the result of a deficit in the sense of ‘self’.  This is caused being at the wrong end of neglectful or over-indulgent forms of parenting when young.  The narcissist is someone who is hungry for attention and needs his/her inner core ‘fed’ by others. Along the way he/she will develop a variety of strategies to achieve the manipulation and milking of other people for his own purposes.  Some of these techniques are deployed while adopting a stance of overweening confidence and strength.  Another variant of NPD will seek to control others from a position of pathetic neediness.   The confident overt narcissist is one that is often found at the top of successful organisations or religious institutions.  This is why the disorder is so important to understand for those who study the dynamics of religious organisations.   Every time we encounter power abuse or dysfunction in a church – a common problem – it is always worth looking for the tell-tale signs of narcissistic behaviour among those in charge.

My personal thinking about narcissism in the church has now moved on further.  It is no longer just about narcissistically inclined people using their position of power in the church to achieve a feeding of their inner core.  I have now come to see that this bolstering of inwardly fragile personalities is not only achieved through dominating relationships.   Every reader of this blog will be able to think of people who use their position of being ‘in charge’ as a way of holding their inner self together.  My newer insight is to see that the institutional structure of the Church is itself a narcissistic feeding point.  Whenever I speak about institutional narcissism (IN), I am referring to the fact that the institution (here the Church) is the source of numerous ways of propping up and bolstering individuals.  It does this by providing a variety of titles, rituals and institutional rewards for those who serve it loyally.

 About thirty years ago I was persuaded by my parish sacristan to attend a Glastonbury festival.  Parading through the streets of the town wearing a cope gave me the strange feeling of being on a stage.  This analogy of being an actor in a drama made me wonder about what is going on when every eucharist is effectively treated as a stage play.  In Catholic teaching the priesthood offers the individual the chance to become in some sense Christ himself, an alter Christus.  In whatever way you expound this theological position, this teaching is probably not a healthy one for a sufferer of NPD.  The upper ranks of Anglicanism and Catholicism also provide many other opportunities for being a ‘superior’ person.  I am not of course suggesting that every Canon, Dean or Bishop is guilty of using their position to claim inappropriate power over people.   Sadly, some do.  I have described in previous posts the related idea of ‘acquired situational narcissism’.  This is a variant of NPD and what I am calling IN which suggests that becoming famous or important through status or celebrity can change a person, allowing them to internalise the damaging traits of narcissistic behaviour.

Institutional narcissism as an idea might be considered to be a less serious affliction than the normal kind.  The cult leader with NPD who ruthlessly exploits his followers sexually and financially to boost his flagging sense of self is clearly a menace and a danger.  The individual who enjoys ‘dressing up’ and being part of processions is not on the face of it a danger to anyone.  But IN does have a serious and harmful side.  Among the stories of survivors of clerical abuse are accounts of their interaction with bishops and other church leaders.  It is hard to find stories where such contact with church leaders have led to a positive outcome.  More typically, the story of an approach to a leader is followed at best by a long period of silence or active hostility at worst.  The survivor wants the bishop to set in motion a process for inhibiting an abuser or allowing some other process of justice to unfold.   Such an account of institutional misbehaviour can quite easily be felt to be a threat to the bishop himself.  Why should this be?  The usual answer to this is one that says that protecting the institution is a high priority for church leaders.  My observation is that the church institution and the bishop’s identity are so closely bound up together that an attack on one is felt to be an attack on the other.  Any weakening in the status of the whole church is a weakening of the personal power and status of each individual bishop.  The more the bishop has invested his ‘self’ into the role, the more pain he might feel when listening to a survivor’s account recounting his abuse episode.

Among the stories shared by survivors about their encounters with authorities in the church are accounts of lost files, ‘forgotten’ conversations and denials.  Instead of helpful pastoral engagements there has often been defensiveness and avoidance.  If there are stories of good positive encounters with church authorities, these have not yet been codified into examples of good practice and commended to the wider church by such bodies as the National Safeguarding Team.  No, the examples we have are those of individuals in charge feeling personally threatened and reacting accordingly.

Institutional narcissism, personal self-inflation through the use of acquired titles and rank, is an idea that I want to explore further.  It helps me to understand the tension that is felt by those in leading positions in the church and the difficulty they have in dealing compassionately with the cries of the abused.  A year ago, when Janet Fife wrote her response to the open letter of the Archbishops in connection with safeguarding, she challenged the formality in the way it was written.  She suggested to the Archbishops that, when talking about pain and abuse and referring to themselves as brothers, the use of formal titles was inappropriate.  Hiding behind titles and rank leads all too easily to a public disengagement that is a real problem for the church at present.  The people of Britain will never respond if they feel they are being spoken down to.  That also has been the normal experience of survivors as they meet head-on the all too common institutional narcissism of our national church and its leaders.

It is perhaps unfortunate for the Church of England and other public bodies that iPlayer was ever invented.  It allows the curious and those obsessed by detail to go back and watch small sections of a programme over and over again.  The Panorama episode on the Church of England last Monday was a case in point.  Certain things within it jarred for me and I needed to check out what had really been said as well as the demeanour of the person uttering the words. 

This blog piece has to assume that the reader saw the programme (or at least read my previous blog) as space does not allow me to run through the things said.  Three people were especially prominent in the programme, in addition to the valiant survivors who appeared.  One was the investigating Lincolnshire Superintendent, Rick Hatton.  The other two were Bishop Alan Wilson and Bishop Peter Hancock.  All three came over as having individual sincerity and honesty.  Each, in different ways, conveyed emotion and this drew the viewer in to feel with them the sentiments of sorrow they were experiencing.  The emotional connection between Superintendent Hatton and the viewer in particular was unexpected, but it made for powerful television.  The other two individuals mentioned also drew us into their personal emotional world.  We felt caught up in the way they had reacted as human beings to the horrors of sexual abuse by clergy.   However, this spell of identification was partly broken in the final few moments of the programme.  One of the bishops showed himself to be unable to answer a straightforward question about the statistics of abuse.  Suddenly the good rapport that Bishop Hancock had built up with the viewer over the programme was shattered.  His evasive response to the interviewer changed the way we related to everything he had previously said in the earlier parts of the interview.  Instead of being a man of feelings and integrity, Bishop Hancock suddenly showed himself as someone who was there to perform in front of an audience.  He was there not to speak for himself but on behalf of others. 

On the Twittersphere this question has been asked by several people.  Who was Bishop Hancock representing and who was he speaking for?  The evasiveness of the final moments of the programme showed that all his earlier answers were in all likelihood rehearsed and controlled by other unseen people.  Unlike all the other people in the programme, the Bishop’s words came to be revealed as the words of a corporate entity.  We were, in other words, hearing from, not a live independent human being but rather we were witnessing a stage-managed, damage limiting show.   The story of the Wizard of Oz immediately comes to mind.

Whenever an individual has the task of standing up on stage and presenting views for someone else, particularly when they are likely to be challenged at a later date, one can feel sorry for that person.  I felt sorry for Bishop Hancock on Panorama just as I had felt for Archbishop Welby when he spouted out nonsense about the Smyth scandal to Channel 4 barely three weeks ago.  Whoever are the hidden forces who pull strings behind the scenes, one feels an atmosphere of desperation in the system when half-truths and palpably false information are fed to the public.  In this age of Twitter, Facebook and email, information travels as fast as light.  How anyone can expect to hide truth in 2019 is a mystery?  The story of spiritual/sexual abuse in the Church is far too big to be buried in a flurry of misleading statistics.  The revelation in 2010 that there were only 13 cases of serious abuse to be examined in the entire C/E was palpably false information but it had the effect of damping down criticism of the institution for a period.  Control of information was then power for those in charge of the Church and they used it effectively to delay the day of reckoning that seems now to be very close.

The truth of the full extent of the abuse scandal within the Church of England is, for the moment, hidden from most of us.  The IICSA hearings did prise open numerous cans of worms and give us a glimpse of what appear to be outrageous manipulations of information which were used to protect the institution.  I am still haunted by what was revealed at the hearing about Chichester when a detective investigating the crimes of Bishop Ball was actively obstructed in the course of his duties by the then Bishop of the Diocese.  The IICSA hearings of last year lead us to suspect that next Monday’s reports and conclusions on the Diocese of Chichester and Peter Ball are likely to be fairly dire.  Somehow the horror of what churchmen (it does seem to be men) will do to try to protect the church from scandal and malfeasance has now limited power to shock.  It is a bit like the situation in the States where presidential lies have become so much the norm that no one expresses any shock at a new one.  But even the negative conclusions of IICSA towards the Church may be survivable if the Church finally comes to the realisation that it cannot prosper when information in this area is suppressed or manipulated.  The interviewer on Panorama upset Bishop Hancock (and presumably his minders) when she scratched at potentially the greatest scandal of all – the statistics of abuse across the whole Church. What was being discussed was sensitive information about the full extent of abuse in the Church.  Not being ready to share that information suggests that Church authorities know that it cannot yet be revealed without a great deal of spin and preparation.  The need for the application of extensive communication skills suggests that the news in this area is very bad indeed.  Some months ago, it was suggested to me by someone ‘in the know’ that the Church dealing with abuse scandals was a bit like fighting forest fires which keep erupting all over the place. 

Panorama indicated to us that control of information is a tactic of power still actively employed by the central Church authorities.  The originators of this tactic do not appear to be the bishops themselves but the highly paid Church House officials at the centre of things.   Unfortunately for them, their control of the levers of power was all too easy to spot in both the recent television interviews.    The interview of Archbishop Welby on Channel 4 was, like that of Bishop Hancock, unconvincing and somewhat contrived.  The bishops themselves both had personal integrity and human warmth but nothing could disguise the fact that they were speaking for someone other than themselves.  The Church cannot continue to go down a path of fielding individuals to act as spokesmen for the institution.  The public want, as far as possible, to encounter real human beings who can speak for the church.  The people of England relate to real people, people who, like them, are living lives of joy mixed with pain.  They will never want to identify with a group when they suspect that the information put out is being manipulated and managed before it is shared with them.  In short, let bishops be bishops, shepherds of the flock, not puppets being controlled by forces that are invisible and are not necessarily working for the good of all.