By Janet Fife
I was unprepared for the impact the John Smyth and Jonathan Fletcher review reports, issued recently, had on me. I’m not one of those directly affected: I didn’t know either of the men and if we had met they wouldn’t have thought me worth their notice. I do know some victims of both men, some who were part of their circle, and some of those people mentioned in the reports. I was prepared for the implications of that and the inevitable emotional impact and stirring of compassion for the victims and survivors.
What I didn’t expect was that the reviews would force me to reflect on my own family history. The world described by the reviewers was both familiar and utterly strange to me; it was those contrasts which struck me so forcibly. I grew up among conservative evangelicals, mostly in the USA, and retained that allegiance when we returned to England in 1974. I was a member of Church Society until they passed a resolution against ordination for women while I was training at Wycliffe Hall.
Reading about the privilege that comes with going to the right public school, I understood afresh why my father and his three brothers all emigrated in the post-war years. Cockneys from the slums around the Old Kent Road, their intelligence, talents, and acquired middle class accents would not have got them far had they stayed in England. Percy, a Scotland Yard detective, found he wasn’t going to get promotion within the force, so he moved to Tasmania. There he reached a senior level in the Australian police while writing radio plays and studying law in his free time. He eventually became a barrister, specialising in defence – as a change from his former career prosecuting. Reg went to the USA where he became business manager of the Christian Literature Crusade. Harold, a Baptist minister in England, took a large church in Toronto before working for the Far Eastern Gospel Crusade, spending half of each year in Japan. He wrote several books.
My father, Eric S. Fife, was much the youngest. He was only two when his father died, leaving the family to subsist on a widow’s pension. At 16 Dad had to leave school to help support his mother and himself. After serving in the RAF during WW2 he took a correspondence course with the London Bible College and was ordained as an FIEC (Federation of Independent Evangelical Churches) pastor in Winchester. During the war he had been stationed in North Africa for a considerable time, which sparked an interest in foreign missions, so he joined the board of the North Africa Mission. In 1955 he was sent to the USA to found a branch of the NAM over there, and so we emigrated. He must have been quite effective, because in a few years’ time he was appointed Missionary Director of Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship (now known in the UK as UCCF). There he became involved in the Neo-evangelical reaction against Christian fundamentalism – a kind of conservative evangelicalism broader, and with more intellectual credibility, than the Iwerne version. In his role with IVCF he held his own among university students, professors, and world Christian leaders such as Billy Graham, John Stott, Festo Kivengere, and P.T. Chandapilla. Many of them visited our home. Dad’s books, especially those on missions, are still available (second hand) in several languages. He was a powerful preacher, too, and in demand across the USA, Canada, and much of the world – except in his home country. Many, many people owed their faith or their missionary vocation to him.
He was a remarkable man, to achieve so much with little education and no advantages except his own talents. What might he have accomplished with the benefit of a public school education, university, and good social networks? And how many other men and women might have exercised a very fruitful ministry in the UK, but for the lack of the ‘right’ class background?
In his youth in England, Dad had been a disciple of Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, the celebrated Reformed expositor and president of the British wing of Inter-Varsity. Before ordination Lloyd-Jones had had a distinguished career in medicine, becoming assistant to the King’s own physician. John Stott, who had himself been a disciple of E.J.H. Nash, the founder of the Iwerne camps, once observed to my father that ‘Martyn Lloyd-Jones had an inferiority complex because he didn’t go to public school’. The language and world view of conservative evangelicalism is very familiar to me, but between the social world of Fletcher and Smyth (and their followers) and my own there is ‘a great gulf fixed’ – just as there was between Nash and my father, or Stott and Lloyd-Jones, all those years ago.
The class differences were huge and prevented my father from ever being much recognised over here. In other ways, though, he had rather a lot in common with Smyth and Fletcher. He had a charismatic personality and a natural air of authority which meant that wherever he was, he was generally assumed to be in charge. He was very intelligent, widely read, articulate, sensitive, perceptive, thoughtful, and could be charming. He inspired great devotion in his followers. But he was also narcissistic, manipulative, violent – and a paedophile. We will probably never know whether he kept that in the family, or whether he sometimes preyed on the children of families he stayed with on his travels. I hope he didn’t.
One of the themes identiifed by the thirtyone:eight review into Jonathan Fletcher is that of ‘homogeneity’:
‘The Review illustrated that one of the biggest difficulties in identifying and disclosing the behaviours was the myth of homogeneity. The Review evidenced that a person who possesses positive characteristics and is widely highly-regarded could nonetheless display entirely inappropriate, abusive and harmful behaviours which render them “unfit for their office”.
Furthermore, those who wish to disclose abuse or harmful behaviours can be caused to question their experience and reality where the predominant narrative outlines the positive traits of an individual. When this is combined with a narrative of protecting the gospel above all else then this becomes a powerful barrier to disclosing abuse or harmful behaviour.’
That aptly describes one of the major issues of my life. I don’t think ‘homogeneity’ is quite the right word, though. It’s probably apt when a charming, intelligent, and kind person is revealed as a malignant narcissist and an abuser. The contrasts between the different aspects of their personality are confusing and damaging to their victims, especially where there is a myth that people are either good or evil, rather than a mixture of both. When an effective spiritual leader, through whom God is seen to work, is found out to have done cruel and evil things over many years, profound questions are raised about the nature of Christian ministry and the work of the Holy Spirit. Why would God choose to use such a bad person? Were their gifts really God-given? If some of what they said and did was false or had evil motivations, was any of it true and real? I have never managed to answer these questions to my own satisfaction, and probably never will.
Astute regular readers of Surviving Church may have realised by now why I often express concern not just for survivors, but also for the family, friends, and followers of those revealed to be abusers, and those who have failed in safeguarding. I know how heavy a burden they carry, and the anguish that they may be feeling.
In the last few days we have seen some very good survivor-centred responses from leaders in the ReNew constituency. We have also seen a few abysmal ones which amply illustrate the malign culture described in the reviews. Many in that network, both leaders and followers, will still be reeling from shock. It may take them years to come to terms with it all. But I have a word of encouragement for them: if you can find the courage to break ranks and tell what you know, to admit that you too were taken in, you will find that between survivors and anti-abuse campaigners class barriers break down. We support each other support in a fellowship of suffering, passion for justice, and righteous anger which I believe truly does come from God. It’s at least the equal of the fellowship found in good churches and one of the best things in my life. It gives meaning to my history, my suffering, and my future.
Many victims of abusers like Smyth and Fletcher have, understandably, lost their faith. I don’t blame them for that and I’m sure God doesn’t either.
In this Holy Week I remember that Jesus raged against the exploitation of vulnerable people. He was subjected to physical brutality and public sexual humiliation; he identifies with our sufferings. And no one who beats, torments, or humiliates other people does so in his name.
My Dad was a bully possessed of immense charm. He knew how to work a room, and be the centre of attention. He could dominate, not to say totally fill, a room. He entertained, he was a magician, and was funny and clever. And a complete bully. I’m not sure he was a narcissist. But he was always right! I’ve always known I was like him. The tendency to dance and sing if there was a spotlight about came from my enormous sense of inadequacy. I certainly never matched up to either of my parents expectations. But when I discovered my own faith, I softened hugely. I’m still me, for better or worse, but less inclined to be a steam roller. And I don’t do the conditional love thing… If you get a grade 1, that sort of thing. It’s been hard. But I read other people’s stories and I think how lucky I have been…. I’m lost for words, Janet. Please accept a virtual hug. I can’t think of anything else to say.
A very moving account, Janet. It was a surprise to see mention of your father in Winchester.
I briefly encountered Smyth just once in court at Winchester (now quite daunting to realise that this was 50 years ago) when he was still junior counsel. I have met hundreds of barristers over the years, but, inexplicably you might think, I have a vivid memory of Smyth – very cool, autocratic I felt, but a very competent advocate. At the time he would have seemed the most unlikely person to be a serial abuser – the very last thing I would have thought then. He resurfaced in public with the television documentary in 2017 and I have only since learned that our paths narrowly missed crossing in the interim years – in church in Winchester and another in the country village where he had lived and I played the organ for 20 or more years without ever once hearing his name mentioned. But as I have suggested elsewhere recently, his life was a consummate double-act. He was still a respectable and respected public figure in South Africa as late as 2014 when he appeared on national television there – fully four decades after the Ruston report had been written.
I think a further interesting point about him is that he was not a product of the English public school, although he was able to acquire that persona in spite of an earlier and different start in life in Canada. Indeed he had a glittering academic and legal career, QC at a remarkably young age – an enigma on several counts.
A minor correction in the interests of accuracy. The appearance on S African television was 32 years after the Ruston report – still a significantly long time.
Janet, what an astonishingly heavy burden to carry and equally, what a powerful and incisive testimony.
Your brave account goes right to the heart of the issue. Does the undoubtably impressive ministry of good works undo the destructive evil hidden behind closed family doors. I agree ‘homogenous’ doesn’t really work as a word to cover the attempts to make what he did right.
If we can do nothing else we must continue to unmask wrongdoing in our midst, particularly in church.
Splitting away the dark side of ourselves and developing a bright side of overdeveloped super-ministry seems to be a recurring theme. Perhaps one energises the other?
We are now surely very much “on notice”. Wherever there are leaders we have unwittingly elevated, we’re allowing ourselves repeated opportunity to be blind-sided by a ministry rotten-at-core. And it’s not just our leaders, it’s easily ourselves too as livers of a fake faith self-blind to who we really are.
As a congregation we can begin to shake off the obscuring layers of ministry mystique and favour reality and humanity, but not false modesty. It’s a hard task. It starts at the top but doesn’t finish there.
Christ himself was the model to follow. He equipped others to do his ministry for him, men and women from ordinary backgrounds, often broken and brash, but willing and grateful to work for him. Without very much if any education or public accreditation, these people changed the post-Easter world.
By sharing your story Janet, you’ve moved us forward in how to go about this. Thank you.
Thank you for this, Janet.
Today, I can only commend to everyone the lovely lines from a hymn. We can’t figure all this stuff out, we can only turn to love on the cross.
“Just as I am, without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me
And that thou bids me come to Thee
O Lamb of God, I come.
Thank you, Janet, for sharing this part of your story. It is brave of you and will, I am sure, be of great help to many others who have will recognise certain similarities in their own histories. Thank you also for your urging for people to speak out and find common ground across so many barriers that, in the end, dissolve in the face of shared experiences and shared acceptance and love.
Thank you so much Janet. Lovely of you to share.
I have been reflecting this winter that Moses was a murderer, and so was Paul when still Saul, and David arranged a murder too. Remarkable. Also, a recent revival in Wales was led by a pastor whose book To Catch a Thief is a practically manual on how to terrorise the elderly into parting with their cash before it gets to the point of his conversion during his fifth spell in prison for burglary. It’s a reminder that God delights to reach down and lift people from the dust and set them among princes. Psalm 113.
One of the choruses from Iwerne days has also been on my mind.
There’s a way back to God from the dark paths of sin.
There’s a door that is open and you may go in.
At Calvary’s Cross is where you begin
When you come as a sinner to Jesus.
I shall continue to ponder these things. Luke 2:19.
But what about those who don’t repent and carry on their ministry while continuing to sin grievously? As far as we know my father never repented, nor Smyth, Zacharias, Ball, or so many others.
Living a double life, or actually using your position in ministry to gain access to victims, as so many have, is a very different thing from sin that is followed by repentance and a changed life.
Jonathan Fletcher still has time, but has shown no sign of repentance so far. And it’s not likely that he will while people continue to let him off the hook.
Or those who seem to do well in the church precisely because they are seen as “sinners who have repented”. I sometimes thought I might have done better if I’d misbehaved myself more!
All very well, but the pride that infuses the coterie of power that nurtured and protected
not one but two seriously hypocritical cannot stroll away with a few biblical names.
When did Jesus choice of fishermen morph into the leadership exclusively drawn from attendance at Iwerne via Eton, Winchester and Repton?
Why not challenge Wm Taylor and his lieutenants with the following.
Instead of embracing with gratitude the work of those who had reached out to the broken, and fought their corner when many in that grouping of the Church were putting pressure on the victims to stop tarnishing the brand, Taylor tries to marginalise them, characterising them as a “ small group who had a part in shaping the report”.and as they extend the debate, he complains that they are “ clearly politically driven”. The organisation that produced the report in the first place ( whose name at this point he deigns not speak ) apparently has questions to answer. Well, you first William.
Why don’t you tell us in which decade you first became aware that your old Iwerne teacher was a sexual sadist?
Why don’t you tell us what you think of his crimes being covered up for 40 years by your friends and long term associates?
Do you think on reflection, there was a degree of closet racism in Smyth being too dangerous to English public school boys, but ok to unleash to abuse African boys because he had given a “ Scouts honour “ promise to your leadership pals?
What steps have you taken to bring any of this out into the open and support the victims?
You continued your relationship and sat on Charity Trustee boards for a couple of years with your friend Fletcher after his PTO was withdrawn. Did he ever confide in you during this period that he was in a “spot of bother”?
Do you think that some victim’s reticence to speak for so many years, might have been as a result of the power of your leadership team, and that their challenging your power of shunning and a culture of omerta might just be “ godly political work”
What personal responsibility do you acknowledge for not being seen as a champion of transparency and accountability in these matters?
What does the phrase “ the arrogance of power” mean to you?
I strongly suspect that Revd Taylor will not like these questions; he need not answer them. No matter. We have others, and more to the point, so do many many more decent people in the Church from all shades of opinion who see what has gone on within this Iwerne coterie, and find it abhorrent on many levels.
A small point: ‘Eton’ is inapplicable. Of course, Justin Welby was originally at Eton, but he was a university-time convert, so would have begun at Iwerne as a senior camper not as a schoolboy. At first Eton was part of the enterprise, being one of the top 30 public schools as they were then envisaged, in fact the top 1. The story goes that a prayer-list was picked up off the ground – perhaps even including prayer that the institutional Christian leaders etc at Eton be converted. At that point, Eton-Iwerne contact terminated, and I suppose that would have been in the latter 1970s. What I do not remember is whether chaplain Roger Royle was instrumental in that move.
This is a satirical comment?
The reason Fletcher was not a Bishop was that he enjoyed greater unfettered power prestige and patronage as the Godfather of Conservative Evangelicalism with none of the accountability, constraints or collegiality.
The leadership of this sect is the elitist “ special boys from special schools “ just as Bash Nash planned back in the 1930’s when such thinking was very much in vogue.
In no way do I wish to detract from all the terrible things he did, some of my friends were affected but dare not speak. However wasn’t JF’s PTO withdraw over a completely different issue regarding not being Anglican enough?
Michael, this was part of the deception put about by his friends to protect Fletcher. It is quite simply a lie.
The Church lacked courage and integrity when dealing with this powerful bully. He agreed not to exercise ministry until his PTO ran out and they let him go with a whimper rather than a bang. They know he was an abuser then, the whole world can read the reports now.
Fletcher refused to engage with the investigation. This is the way with bullies; they can dish it out but they can’t handle it when confronted.
The Church can pick on elderly Archbishops, and fuss about obscure priest’s social media offerings but offered the evidence to address and clean up the
arrogance of power at the heart of the Iwerne coterie and they quake and dissemble.
I do think you’re right that’s a big part of it, Martin.
All the survivors (and allies) I know are immensely courageous, whether or not they choose to disclose their abuse publicly. We generally don’t flinch at calling out abuse of power when we see it. It’s often costly, so I understand it’s not everyone’s battle to fight. But I just wish those with the responsibility AND the means to do something, would show half the courage of those survivors.
Thanks Janet.
I wrote my comment from the perspective of feeling a failure and wondering if there is a way back. Yes, the prodigal son needed a change of heart and direction, otherwise he would still be dining on pig food now.
My favourite sermon to date was one by Paul Cain in 1990 which I heard on tape on Jeremiah 33:1. The word of the Lord came the second time to Jeremiah when he was shut up in the guard house. Paul emphasised to us that we may have made a complete mess of things first time round but there is always another chance to get it right this time. So each morning when I get up I ask that I might honour the Lord today in whatever ways he allows me to.
I find much of life is a mystery. Why don’t people turn to Jesus in hordes? Why is our conversion to him often only skin deep? Crazy!
‘Feeling a failure’ is not sin, and is certainly very different from those ‘ministers’ who deliberately prey on others. There are a lot of good and genuine Christians who feel a failure much of the time. It’s all subjective – only God knows what a difference we make to others and what fruit we are bearing.
I hope you find tomorrow a real day of resurrection.
You’re doing good work being part of this “community”, David.
Thanks English Athena. So are you. It’s good if we can share – James 5:16 is a favourite verse of mine.
Happy Easter everyone! And may it be a time of resurrection for us all.
How do we get “ahead” in ministry?
One theme Janet’s article keeps bringing up in me is this subject. English Athena referred to her struggle with an unfair ordination system. Class, school, university, background all keep getting a mention on these pages.
You could say they were “Anglican-centric”. Sometimes it’s as if this is the Only Church. And that you only matter if you’re ordained.
Of course we know that this isn’t true. But how about academic supremacy? Are we pro or anti-academic, as if one of these is the way to God?
Broadly I would observe that the overall tendency in society is away from traditional hierarchical status routes to public elevation. Fame, on the world board of snakes and ladders can quickly lift you (or drop you) to being the voice everyone listens to.
The iwerne network of preferment, being an inner fast track to C of E senior leadership, seems increasingly anachronistic. Leaders of the future might be glad that they DIDN’T attend there, as much as they previously did. Who knows. Certainly there is considerable nostalgia for the Iwerne dream even here, although more recently a more honest realism about its limitations.
As regards ordination, I recall looking at this myself many years ago. I parked the idea, feeling at the time that it was being “oversold” rather heavily, and not being convinced that I had any “calling” specifically to that profession. I was almost completely unaware at that time of all the discriminatory mechanisms in place against which many, who yearned for this, found blocking their pathway. Cruelly too.
There is something very levelling about a place where any voice can be heard.
New church needs to review its reliance on old promotional biases. We may just find new communities growing rapidly which are well ahead of us here. And the lost generations of overlooked talent can genuinely give their gifts.
As a counterbalance in this talk of promotion, we must remember that this constituency is of all constituencies the least promotion-minded of all, preferring to stick to the job of local pastor than ever to rise to archdeacon let alone bishop. As I recall, the very thought that they should have even one bishop of their own (out of 100+), despite all their large congregations, was too much for some people – as Cuddesdon did not yet have 40 of its own.
Well, they do have an Archbishop of Canterbury and at least two bishops. And they often go to wealthy parishes in nice surroundings, with plenty of staff.
That does not stop different forms of power: not money or class; being able to exert forms of abuse sadly.
I suppose we could choose to come not to be served, but to serve, and give our lives. It might involve suffering outside the camp.
It’ll never catch on! 😀
I don’t have many words right now, but just really appreciating the wisdom, insight, honesty, vulnerability and desire for justice here.
Superb article, Janet, and great debate.
Wishing you all a very happy Easter
Jane
Hi Jane. Happy Easter!