Back in April, Surviving Church was one of the first to jump in with comment about the Soul Survivor affair.  In view of the fact that details of any abusive practices were then not being shared (though strongly hinted at), I focussed my remarks to some general points about some of the dangers in the dynamics of large congregations led by charismatic personalities and which are attractive to young people.  Some who commented on my blog were extremely angry at my mention of the Nine o’ Clock (NOS) service in Sheffield led by Chris Brain in the 90s.  My comparison was not to link the known facts about Soul Survivor to the accounts of abuse at NOS.  Rather I wanted to draw attention to some common features inherent in both these novel ways of doing church.  Both relied on drama and excitement and were backed up by what I believe to be an unhealthy focus on personality and celebrity.  There has always been in Soul Survivor an apparent dependency on the big personality of the leadership.  Mike Pilavachi, or MP, as we shall henceforth call him, is a big person in several ways. He certainly qualifies for the description that I would give him of being a larger than life charismatic and powerful personality.

In thinking about the way people react to dominant personalities, it is helpful, I think, to look back in our own personal histories.  Most of us can remember being paraded as a child in front of an individual considered by the world to be important.  Because our parents may have stressed the importance of being on our best behaviour in responding to this VIP, we probably stood tongue tied and silent while the distinguished person addressed a few words or questions to us.  However we behaved or spoke in this situation, we were aware of strongly inhibiting forces at work.  It would not be inaccurate to describe our feelings as those of awe or even fear. 

I often wonder whether most of us ever completely grow out of these childhood inhibitions when encountering someone we, and the world in general, admire and look up to.  The presence of charisma or obvious distinction exuded by another person certainly discourages any over-familiarity in our approach to them. Childhood memories of being introduced to an important person seem to re-emerge whenever we are brought face to face with people of some standing.  Charisma is one of these manifestations of human power.  It is a hard word to define, but most of us recognise it when we encounter it.  It speaks of a power inherent in a personality which can be used to charm others. Equally it can express itself as a force to control and manipulate.  In short, charisma seems to be describing a human ability to profoundly affect and even change another person.  Whether this power is being used to raise the other person up or cast them down will depend on the motivation of the person with the charismatic power.

The circumstances of MP’s ministry and the way he was at the heart of a huge ‘successful’ institution we know as Soul Survivor, means that he had access to considerable power.  Some was linked to the personal charisma which he undoubtedly possessed.  This was combined with the power inherent in being in charge of the institution he had founded and led.  His power also came from individuals constantly looking up to him for his gifts of teaching and leading worship.   The dynamics of power flowing around Soul Survivor suggest that, without realising it, the leaders and members of the congregation were active participants in a kind of complex dance.  Those outside MP’s immediate circle may have looked on with envy, wanting access to the self-esteem that came with an inclusion to the charmed group at the centre.  The size of Soul Survivor suggests that there would likely have been a constant dance-like jockeying for position.  Those close to the leadership wanted to continue to bask in the reflected glory of MP’s attention and his charisma. Others were patiently waiting for their opportunity to replace them.  Many seeking a favourable place in the institutional hierarchy of Soul Survivor appear to have endured petty humiliations or even abuse.  This was the cost of having a temporary place of esteem and privilege in the edifice of power created and sustained by MP.

My description of a ‘power dance’ going on at the heart of Soul Survivor is my attempt to make sense of the celebrity culture that seems to be at the heart of ministries of this kind.  It remains to be seen whether SS can survive the departure of MP and Andy Croft.  I make my observation about the possible demise of the organisation based on the way I suspect that the dramatic changes in leadership can seriously disturb the delicate power balance that has existed for so many years.  The institution will not find it easy to survive the disruption that has followed the departure of key leaders.

In writing this blog I have come to have a measure of unexpected sympathy for MP.  This allows me to suggest that the final version of the saga of MP may be a little less condemnatory towards him.   My sympathy comes from the fact that, as a young man, MP was entrusted with a position of influence and power where there were few if any constraining forces.  Overlooking for a moment the recent allegations of impropriety against groups of young men, we can suggest the amount of unsupervised power that MP was given in the early days of SS was, at the very least, completely inappropriate.  From his early days it seems that he was treated as if he could do no wrong.  Backed by the resources, financial and institutional, of St Andrew’s Chorleywood, MP was offered a path to success and adulation by the entire culture of charismatic evangelicalism across the world.  To suggest that MP had his head turned by this success is probably a massive understatement.  What seems to have happened in the MP story is that crowds of young people were drawn to the music of Matt Redman and the charismatic mesmerising gifts MP possessed.  This created a situation which offered the possibility of indulging in undreamt-of levels of gratification through the exercise of power of different kinds.  Without anyone in a position to check this power or question its corrupting potential, the path to MP’s eventual self-destruction lay wide open.  A mitigating thought is that one can imagine that there are probably many other Christian leaders who might well have chosen a similar path of self-gratification, if someone had provided the means for them to do so.  What separates MP from many other wannabes may be simply the external circumstances of his life story. 

Having suggested that MP deserves some understanding for surrendering to the waves of temptation that were poured over him from different directions, we should mention another factor in the mix -the sheer length of time that MP was left unsupervised to do his own thing.  The traditional five years that Methodist ministers used to be allowed to remain in one post had a certain wisdom built into it.  While the 5-year rule might have disrupted the education of many manse children, at least abusive relationships within a congregation were less likely to develop.  Thirty years in a single role will always have some potential serious drawbacks.  These would include the power to claim ownership over a church institution and the individuals in it.  Such ‘ownership’ is dangerous and likely to be detrimental to both sides.  There are many lifetime ministries to be found in the Anglican conservative evangelical world.  While these do not lead to abusive relationships in most cases, there is something somewhat unhealthy about one individual occupying a position of influential and institutional power for a long period of time.  If Jonathan Fletcher had been required to look for a new post after ten years, much of his devastating abuse of power might have been avoided.  While there are arguments against setting time limits in ministry, there are arguments in favour.  MP might have been forced to be accountable for his ministry if there had been a time limit at Soul Survivor.

The ministry of MP seems to have gone badly wrong, in part because of the wider church culture he inhabited.   Any culture which allows unaccountable power to flourish, and fails to offer proper supervision and theological scrutiny, is bound to court danger.  Far too many people seemed to have lacked the kind of common sense that might have been able to spot the danger signs in MP’s ministry.  A ministry that depends so much on celebrity and a charismatic personality should always be subject to proper oversight.  One of the disappointing revelations of the MP story so far revealed, is the way that the independent supervision, such as it was, completely failed.  I am mentioning here the oversight of the Diocese of St Albans.  Was there not, among the experienced clergy at the centre, someone able to question what was really going on in Watford?  Had no lessons been learned from the maverick NOS experiment in Sheffield?  Is it ever a good idea to dispense with the formation process before allowing an individual like MP to enter Anglican ministry?  The Church of England is supposed to be known for its system of checks and balances.  Such measures are designed to protect the institution from rogue and abusive behaviours by any of those who work for it.

The events at Soul Survivor have yet to be fully described and understood.  My own reflections on what has so far been revealed, suggest that the Soul Survivor scandal is far bigger than the malfeasance of a single individual.  Given the numerous opportunities to offend that were presented to MP over the years, it might almost have been surprising if MP, who had never been part of some formation process, had never taken advantage of his situation.  Another way of putting it is to say that MP was himself failed by a Christian culture too interested in wealth and success to be properly aware and protective towards the vulnerable individuals in its midst.  Blame should be apportioned to many places, among them St Andrew’ Chorleywood, the Diocese of St Albans and the whole culture of charismatic evangelical Christianity which had nurtured, but then failed to control MP.  But It is also a sad and tragic day when so much trust is invested in a gifted charismatic individual and this trust is then so completely betrayed.

by Richard Scorer

A mandatory reporting law imposes a legal obligation on specified individuals or groups, usually known as “mandated reporters”, to report known or suspected cases of abuse to the statutory authorities. We don’t currently have such a law in England and Wales, where it remains entirely legal, for example, for a priest to discover that a child or vulnerable adult is being raped, and to do nothing about it.  IICSA (the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse)  said that this needs to change, and recommended that a mandatory reporting law be introduced to cover ‘regulated’ settings, including churches. IICSA’s proposal has been criticised as inadequate (in my view justifiably), but the principle of mandatory reporting is right, as Justin Welby agreed in his evidence to IICSA. However, a further question is whether there should be a religious exception to mandatory reporting to uphold the absolute seal of the confessional; this issue has provoked more controversy.

Some church groups have responded with a flat rejection of any exception to the confessional seal.  In response to the recent government consultation on mandatory reporting, The Society (aka Forward in Faith, representing traditionalist, conservative Anglo Catholicism in the Church of England) argued that “Confidentiality is an essential ingredient of Confession because we regard the conversation to between Christ and the penitent and it must therefore remain ‘sealed’ by the sacrament. To qualify it in certain circumstances would be to undermine the sacrament altogether and would represent a major theological problem for us.……….We therefore regard the retention of the Seal of Confession to be a matter of religious freedom and conscience…..these are deeply held matters of religious faith and conviction, based on many centuries of practice throughout the world”.

Of course, clergy work in a pastoral role and as such, wish to be persons to whom confidences can safely be entrusted. The question is whether clergy should be entitled to claim absolute confidentiality, including in respect of information about abuse. This question has to be answered in the light of the known recidivism of sex offenders: a failure to act on information will frequently put others at risk. Professionals handling sensitive information do not generally enjoy absolute confidentiality. As a lawyer, my clients enjoy the protection of legal professional privilege in our dealings, and I have a duty to uphold this. However, this is not absolute. For example, if I know or reasonably suspect that a client might be engaged in money laundering, I have a legal duty to report this to the authorities, and I can go to prison if I don’t; this duty overrides client confidentiality. Similarly in many jurisdictions mandatory reporting laws apply to the medical profession, indeed the earliest mandatory reporting laws in the 1960s were specifically aimed at physicians. The question, then, is whether clergy should be treated as an exception if the religion deems that the seal of the confession applies.

There are numerous problems with Forward in Faith’s approach. To begin with, at least so far as the Church of England is concerned, an appeal to ‘centuries of practice’ is a rather doubtful basis for a defence of an unqualified seal. Historically, the confessional seal in the Church of England arises from Canon 113 of 1603. Canon 113 (‘Minister may Present’) concerned the suppression of evil-doing by the presentment to the Ordinary by parsons, vicars or curates of crimes and iniquities committed in the parish.  The canon concluded with a proviso relating to the seal of the confessional:

“Provided always, That if any man confess his secret and hidden sins to the minister, for the unburdening of his conscience, and to receive spiritual consolation and ease of mind from him: we do not in any way bind the said minister by this our Constitution, but do straitly charge and admonish him, that he do not at any time reveal and make known to any person whatsoever any crime or offence so committed to his trust and secrecy (except they be such crimes as by the laws of this realm his own life may be called into question for concealing the same) under pain of irregularity”.

As the ecclesiastical lawyer Christopher Grout has pointed out, the wording of the proviso to Canon 113 is important. The proviso applies only for the ‘unburdening of (the penitent’s) conscience, and to receive spiritual consolation and ease of mind’; this wording suggests that it applies only where penitence is genuine. Also, for the proviso to apply, the sins confessed to the minister must be ‘secret and hidden’. This suggests that the proviso may not apply if what was confessed to the minister was already known to him or – at least arguably – others. It also seems that the proviso may not have been legally binding upon the minister (‘we do not in any way bind the said minister by this our Constitution’), although a breach would result in disciplinary action (‘pain of irregularity’) . Most importantly, an exception to confidentiality exists insofar as ‘they be such crimes as by the laws of this realm his own life may be called into question for concealing the same’. Interpreted literally, this ‘high treason’ exception permits the minister to reveal what he or she has been told if it is the type of crime concealment of which could itself constitute a criminal offence for which the lawful punishment is execution. Because the death penalty has been abolished in the UK this exception is no longer applicable, but its inclusion in the proviso indicates that the seal of the confessional was not recognised as inviolable in 1603. This reflects the political reality of the time, in which Protestant England was under mortal threat from Catholic Spain. But if church law could accommodate an exception to the seal of the confessional in 1603 and for hundreds of years thereafter, because public protection required it, it can obviously do so again.   

A redrafted canon and proviso which removed the words in brackets and sought to strengthen the principle of the seal of the confessional  was proposed in 1947 by the Archbishops’ Commission on Canon Law but was never promulgated. It appears that legal advice was received that a new canon in this form was unlikely to receive the Royal Licence, because the implication of this more absolutist canon was that clergy would now have the privilege of not being obliged to disclose information received in the confessional, if called to give evidence in court, and it is very doubtful that such a privilege ever existed under English secular law. Rather than risk a refusal, it was decided to retain the proviso to the old Canon 113, whilst repealing the rest of the code of 1603. Resolutions were passed in the in support of the seal of the confessional at the Convocations of Canterbury and York in 1959, but Acts of Convocation have moral force only, and are not law. Historians have observed  that the canon of 1603 represents a watering down of pre Reformation Roman Catholic ecclesiastical law in which secrecy was seen as the essence of confession, and it clearly is. It is certainly a weak foundation on which to build an argument that in the Church of England the seal of the confessional has always been inviolable.

As Canon Judith Maltby pointed out recently in a letter to the Church Times, the Forward in Faith paper is also thin on evidence. As Maltby noted, it entirely fails, for example, to grapple with the evidence amassed by Dr Marie Keenan who worked with clerical sex offenders in Ireland; evidence which relates to the Catholic Church, but which has obvious implications for debates about the confessional seal in any religious context. Keenan spent decades interviewing clerical sex offenders and unpicking the cognitive distortions underpinning their offending, and the ways in which the culture of the Catholic Church itself contributes to the problem. Keenan found that eight of the nine clerical sex offenders who participated in her main study had disclosed their sexual abuse of children in confession. The confessional, it transpired, was their main place of respite and support from their “emotional conflicts and loneliness”. Several of them explained to her how they used the confessional to cope with their abuse of children, and thus to facilitate it. As one told her: “The only ones who would have sensed what I was going through were my confessors – they were carefully selected by me, and time and time again I recounted my temptations and falls, my scruples and shame. They after all were bound to a strict code of secrecy. I was known personally to them all. They were my lifelines.”

As Keenan sets out, for these clerical sex offenders, the confessional became a secret conversational space, not only of forgiveness but also of “externalising” the issues “in safety”. One said: “After each abusive occurrence I felt full of guilt and at the earliest opportunity I sought to confess and receive absolution… There were times of guilt, shame and fear that I would get caught but I used confession to clean the slate. I minimised everything in this area… convincing myself that I would never do it again, especially after confession.”

Tellingly, one recalled: “In all the times I confessed to abusing a minor, I can only remember one occasion when I got a reprimand or advice not to do this again.” Thus “in a strange way the sacramental Confession let us off the hook rather lightly, and perhaps allowed us to minimise what was actually happening… Not confronted adequately, we experienced only a short duration of guilt and no sense of responsibility for how we hurt others, only the alleviation of our own guilt and shame.”

Keenan observed: “Receiving confession played a role in easing the men’s conscience in coping with the moral dilemmas following episodes of abusing, and it provided a site of respite from guilt.” She concluded that these offenders’ stories “give rise to important observations regarding the function of confession”. It was “notable that only one confessor on one occasion, among the many times that the men disclosed their abusive behaviour in confession, pointed out the criminal nature of the sexual abuse”. Thus, Keenan concluded, “the very process of confession itself might therefore be seen as having enabled the abuse to continue not only in how the men used the secrecy and safety of the confessional space to resolve the issues of guilt, but also in the fact that within the walls of the confession, the problem of the sexual abuse of children was contained”. She also observed: “While the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1994) makes clear that the seal is a fundamental aspect of the theology of the sacrament of confession, and it is not the function of the confessor to judge the confessant, nonetheless no pathway existed for this important information of abuse by clergy, which was emerging in the confessional, to flow back into the system, to alert the church hierarchy to a growing problem… The fact that the problem was individualised at the level of the confessional is an important feature of abuse by clergy.”

Keenan’s research is multi-layered and nuanced, but it certainly suggests that far from creating an opportunity for abuse to be discussed and challenged, the confessional can operate as a forum in which abuse is forgiven and the slate wiped clean. Far from creating an opportunity to tackle clerical sex abuse, the seal of the confessional can be an enabler of it. This research, and the known cases in which a failure to act on disclosures of abuse in the confessional allowed further abuse to occur (I wrote about some of the Catholic cases in my book Betrayed) cannot be ignored; those who seek to defend an unqualified seal need at a minimum to engage with the evidence, something the Forward in Faith document entirely failed to do.

What should the Church of England do now? IICSA has recommended mandatory reporting, and the government has endorsed the idea in principle, although its insistence on a further consultation after an 8 year public inquiry suggests a desire to delay implementation. The Labour Party has long been committed to mandatory reporting, as has Keir Starmer personally since his Victim’s Law report in 2015. So mandatory reporting is almost certainly coming. And IICSA was categorical in rejecting any religious or confessional exception to it. As its final report observes:

“Some core participants and witnesses argued that a mandatory reporting law ought to provide exemptions for some faith-based settings or personnel and, in particular, in the context of sacramental confession. As the Inquiry has already noted, the respect of a range of religions or beliefs is recognised as a hallmark of a liberal democracy. Nonetheless, neither the freedom of religion or belief nor the rights of parents with regard to the education of their children can ever justify the ill-treatment of children or prevent governmental authorities from taking measures necessary to protect children from harm. The Inquiry therefore considers that mandatory reporting as set out in this report should be an absolute obligation; it should not be subject to exceptions based on relationships of confidentiality, religious or otherwise”.  

This is right. As the Australian Royal Commission also concluded, the free practice of religion is not an absolute right and can be reasonably abridged to protect the “fundamental rights and freedoms of others”; and mandatory reporting is a paradigm case of protection of the vulnerable needing to take precedence over a religious right (and rite).   

In this context, rather than a die-in-the-ditch approach, the Church of England and other religious organisations need to think creatively about reforming church law on the confessional to accommodate the reality and necessity of mandatory reporting. In IICSA some senior Church of England figures seemed open to this, others not.  The most sensible position was articulated  by Canon Dr Rupert Bursell, a distinguished ecclesiastical lawyer who also happens to be a child abuse survivor. He pointed out that reporting requirements already exist in relation to terrorism and money laundering, with no exemption for information imparted in the confessional and, as he put it, these duties exist “whether the Anglo Catholics (ie in the Church of England) like it or not, and whether they are aware of it or not”. The same principle, he argued, should apply to child abuse. Church of England guidelines on clergy conduct published in 2015 state that if the penitent discloses a serious crime, but refuses to report it to the authorities, the priest should withhold absolution. This approach is sometimes presented as a solution by those seeking to preserve the confessional seal in the face of mandatory reporting of child abuse, but of course it is no solution at all, since mandatory reporting means exactly that: the priest has to report, irrespective of whether absolution is granted or not.  

A more progressive approach is the one adopted by the Anglican Church in Australia, a country which has strong secular mandatory reporting laws in most states and territories. In 2014 and 2017 the General Synod of the Anglican Church of Australia passed new canons, the first of which created an exception to the principle of confessional confidentiality in relation to a “grave offence” (meaning child abuse) by providing that the church minister

“is obliged to keep confidential the grave offence so confessed only if he or she is reasonably satisfied that the penitent has reported the grave offence to the police and, if the person is a church worker or a member of the clergy, to the Director of Professional Standards or other relevant Church authority”.

The second canon expanded the definition of “grave offence” to include abuse of a vulnerable person, and expanded the exceptions to confidentially to include non-criminal conduct that is reasonably believed to put a vulnerable person at risk of significant harm. The canons are only effective at diocesan level if passed by diocesan synods; my understanding is that all Anglican dioceses in Australia have adopted the first one, and most have adopted the second.  Personally I am not entirely persuaded by the language of the canons which leave the decision on reporting to the minister, albeit with the benefit of legal advice if required. In IICSA I criticised Church of England safeguarding procedures which were insufficiently directive in requiring reporting, using the word ‘should’ in relation to reporting instead of ‘must’. The same point could be made about these canons, which are designed to leave the reporting decision to the conscience of the minister. But the bigger point is that these canons disapply the seal when it comes to knowledge and reporting of child abuse, and as such remove any direct conflict between church law and secular mandatory reporting.

This is to be commended, and I hope that other religious organisations will follow suit. The idea that the seal of the confessional is sanctified and justified by centuries of tradition entirely misses the point. Clerical sex abuse of children has been going on for centuries too, but has only recently been exposed. Its exposure means that centuries of tradition – if it can even be characterised as such, which in the Church of England is doubtful –  are no longer a reliable guide to future action. When the seal of the confessional stands in the way of action to protect children, this is simply a religious privilege too far; churches would do well to recognise that reality, and engage sensibly in a process of change.

It is a little over twenty-five years since the American religious leader, John Wimber, died of cancer aged 63.  Those of us who were at the time active in church life will have known his name and reputation.  Wimber may have affected as many churches across Britain as Billy Graham did for an earlier generation.  By visiting Britain in most years between 1980 and 1995, Wimber’s influence was felt by many congregations across the UK.  His impact was felt far beyond the Vineyard network of churches that he founded around the world, and his distinctive theological teaching and musical culture reached many congregations in the Church of England.  Most of the current powerhouses of charismatic Christianity in Britain today, Anglican or not, can trace their lineage back to the work of this single individual and those who worked with him.  Unlike Billy Graham, who wanted to reach audiences of the unchurched in their tens of thousands, Wimber focussed his efforts mainly on those already members of church congregations.  His aim was to rejuvenate church life with what came to be known as power evangelism.  I was able to attend a Wimber conference in 1992 at Holy Trinity Brompton and, in spite of initial reservations, I was impressed with the style and content of the teaching.  In summary, Wimber’s teaching focussed on what he believed God was doing powerfully in the here and now rather than repeating the age-old and rather weary themes of traditional conservative Christian teaching.  We heard nothing about the substitutionary death of Christ; rather we were called to feel and display God’s power in the present.  It was thrilling stuff and the audience was never bored.

Since Wimber died, the churches who came under his influence have had the opportunity to ponder what they received.   No doubt there will be a wide range of opinions on his legacy.  Some will be adulatory while others will be aware of negative aspects about his teaching and theology.  Possibly the one thing that people will agree on will be the fact that Wimber’s impact on church life across the denominations in this country has been profound.  History has yet to declare its final verdict on the contribution his ministry has made to church life in Britain.  Obviously my own comments will carry a considerable element of subjectivity and personal bias.  With that proviso, I believe my observations of the man and what he represented have some value, especially as I was witness to his ministry in person.

There was much to like about Wimber in his preaching style and message.  He came over as man of humour, with a tendency for self-deprecation and wit.  He seems to have gained the trust and friendship of all the the key religious leaders in Britain who were then highly respected and prominent in the charismatic world.  Among these were David Watson, John Gunstone, David Pytches and the then Vicar of Holy Trinity Brompton, Sandy Millar.   I have not found myself holding the same respect and trust for the generation of charismatic leaders who came after Wimber, but I remain personally indebted to two aspects of the Wimber tradition.   These have resonated for me in my personal Christian pilgrimage and my priestly ministry.

I spoke above about the ‘weary(ing) themes’ of much current evangelical preaching.   A great emphasis is laid on Calvinist reflections on the meaning of the death of Christ and how Christians are caught up in the complicated transaction involving the wrath of God and the removal of human sin.  Many of the key texts which set out this somewhat severe presentation of the Christian faith are found in the epistles of Paul.  References to the personality of Jesus and what he believed about God and his loving purpose to bring about a transformation of humankind are seemingly pushed to one side.  Speaking generally, Wimber’s preaching and the books he wrote were focussed on the Jesus that is found in the Gospel accounts.  There was the implication that in Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of God, there was an invitation for Christians to experience this Kingdom and learn to live in it as a contemporary reality.  The arrival of God’s kingdom ‘among you’ was the gospel or good news.  It was clear for Wimber that this Kingdom reality involves power, healing and the driving out of all that opposes God’s will.  The three-word summary of much of Wimber’s teaching and preaching, Signs and Wonders, encapsulated many of the main themes of Wimber’s distinctive message. Wimber’s services were always exciting and full of drama.  It was certainly a strong antidote to any dreariness if that might be found in experiences of church worship elsewhere.  It also allowed one to expect the unexpected in our Christian life and ministry.  I should also add that Wimber’s emphasis on healing as a normal part of ministry left its mark on my daily practice.  I imagine that many clergy, like me, were encouraged and emboldened to offer effective prayer for the sick after attending a Wimber conference or reading one of his books. 

So far, I have spoken appreciatively of the legacy of Wimber on the church.  There is, however, one area where his teaching has had a detrimental effect on Christian practice.  In the late 80s Wimber got to know a group of American Christians known as the Kansas City prophets.  These individuals were brought to England in 1990 and made a number of predictions about a revival coming to this country.  These prophecies and the prophets themselves were the focus of enthusiasm by many Christian groups here and in the States, but these were let down in various ways.  In the first place the ‘prophetic’ ministry of such individuals as Paul Cain and Bob Jones, was associated with notions about prophecy which have little to do with those in the Bible.  Without going into detail about the meaning of prophecy in Scripture, it should be explained that the word has far more to with an understanding of God’s word to the current generation than to describing in detail future events.   Uncovering the future sounds much more like an exercise to do with crystal balls than divine revelation.  The ‘gift’ of prophecy that was encouraged by Wimber and his followers has often been marked by its sheer banality.   ‘Words of knowledge’ that are banded about in charismatic settings seem often to speak of the fairground rather than the mystery and power of God. Prophecy in the Old Testament simply does not work like that.  The only ‘prophet’ who shows an interest in proclaiming future events is Daniel.  He, however, is never regarded by the Jewish compliers of the Hebrew Bible as a prophet comparable to Isaiah and Jeremiah.  The book attached to his name is placed in the ‘writings’ along with wisdom literature and the Psalms.

Wimber for a time became quite fixated on the Kansas City Prophets.  When they foretold a great revival coming to pass in Britain in October 1990, Wimber brought his whole family to London for this event.  Nothing happened in spite of an enormous amount of prayer and preparation for this prophesised event.  Some have tried to suggest that the timing of the revival was four years early and that the real event, the Toronto Blessing, was to take place in 1994.  In view of the eventual tense relationship between the Toronto Blessing leaders and Wimber himself, we would suggest that a simpler explanation is called for.  Quite simply, Wimber seemed to allow his spiritual enthusiasm to run away with itself and that his judgement about the Prophets and their prophecies was faulty and misplaced.  One of them at least had an association with William Branham who flourished in the 40s and 50s.  In summary, Branham was not a character whose career stands up to close scrutiny on theological or personal grounds.  We might well describe him as representing the extreme ‘wacky’ school of theology.  American Christianity has many examples to choose from in demonstrating its attraction to the strangest and most maverick notions of faith.

One overriding fact stands up, however, to make Wimber an exemplar in church history.  While some aspects of his theology and understanding can be critiqued and his judge of character was not always of the highest, no one has ever, as far as I know, accused him of abusive behaviour.  At the moment, we are all reading of ‘substantiated concerns’ over safeguarding allegations made against Mike Pilavachi.  As a youth leader at Pytches’ church in Chorleywood, Pilavachi probably met Wimber in person. It seems clear that whatever the relationship may have been, Soul Survivor owes much to the traditions that Wimber created for his followers in Britain.  Pilavachi was, in other words, using Wimber’s methods to evangelise but also sometimes abuse young people over four decades. The damage wreaked by him against his victims must be extensive.  Alongside those who attracted his predatory attentions, there is another group, much larger in number. These knew of Pivalachi’s behaviour but did or said nothing.  In summary, we can see how the actions of one man affected huge numbers and, arguably, infected the entire culture of what we describe as charismatic Christianity.  The original revelations about Soul Survivor in April this year were greeted with a kind of stunned silence from those who had expressed their approval of the Soul Survivor brand.  How Pilavachi’s admirers, and indeed the entire charismatic impulse in the Church today, will cope with this further information, now flowing from its network, remains to be seen. it is therefore refreshing to be able to recall another Christian leader from further back who had an apparently unblemished moral record.

Wimber was a rare figure embodying integrity and complete honesty. He seems not, as far as I know, ever to have been tempted by any of the trappings of power or money.  Remembering him as a man who possessed blind spots but having at the same time essential qualities of honesty and integrity, means that he occupies a place that few, if any, of his successors have achieved.  The impulse we call charismatic Christianity is still widespread in Britain but tragically the brand has now become muddied by sleaze and even corruption.  If this impulse of God contained in the ministry of John Wimber is to survive and be able to inspire a future generation, it will only succeed in this task if the augean stables of power abuse are thoroughly cleaned out. Tragically we find at present just too much suspicion attaching itself to the leaders who claim the Wimber legacy.  They will not find their work of leading another generation of Christian disciples to faith easy.