From early childhood I have always had a strong emotional reaction to beautiful things.  Some of these are natural and some man-made.  Beauty is revealed in many places, from the cry of a newborn child and the glories of a sunset to the intricacies of a mediaeval illustrated manuscript.  This existence of beauty in the world has imprinted in me, from early years, two important theological ideas. One is that beauty is a manifestation of truth every bit as precious and lasting as the truth contained in a list of propositions or statements.   If something were to say that God is beauty and that beauty, in whatever form it manifests itself, partakes of God, I would have no problem with such an insight.  A second way that the identification of God with beauty is helpful, is that, just as God exists beyond time and outside space, so the same thing can be said of beauty.  Beauty, in the way I understand it, will always be something transcendent, outside time and space.

At school, the study of classics brought me into me touch with Plato’s notion of ideas. This is the theory that everything in the world was related to an ‘idea’ or ‘form’ of itself in another dimension. The extent to which anything  approached its ideal, was the extent to which it was most truly real. A horse approaches the ideal of horsiness as it resembles this ‘form’ of a perfect transcendent horse. Plato’s abstract ideas may make no sense from a western trained thinker’s point of view but they form an important background for the understanding of parts of the New Testament and the theology of the early Church.  Whether you find Plato’s thinking and speculations helpful or not, this idea of a real world transcending and giving reality to our present one, has been a powerful, even captivating idea over the centuries of western thought. 

Platonic ideas, particularly as they were absorbed and reconstructed by the Greek fathers, formed part of my theological formation.  Culturally they are at odds with the precise world of the 18^th century enlightenment model as understood by the Western traditions. This personal appropriation of Platonism saved me from two theological perspectives which are, I believe, unhelpful to many people.  The first is the idea that only words can contain and define the divine reality in what is known as propositional thinking.  Such thinking is found among the Reformers and their successors.  It is also believed that nothing can be said about God unless it is rooted in the words of Scripture. Patristic insights that God is unknowable or beyond the capacity of human thought find little place in reformed theology.  A second application of enlightenment thinking is associated with liberal Protestantism.  This also, in a different way, tries to present Christianity as far as possible within the framework of modern scientific and philosophical thought.  Stories of miracles have a habit of being explained away rather than pointing to the limitations of human language and experience.  This appeal to rationality as defined by 18^th century philosophers like Locke and Hume is a strong influence in much of modern liberal theological discourse.

When I say I prefer Plato to the Enlightenment, I am not suggesting that one is right and the other wrong.  I see no binary tension here. I want to affirm Plato and his followers alongside enlightenment rationality. Both have their place. Plato provides us with a way of approaching the mystery of God which has proved very popular over the centuries.  From his speculations we acquire a language with which to speak about what is perhaps unspeakable and beyond reason.  Western logic finds this hard to do.  The word ‘mystery’ itself introduces us to this distinct way of reasoning.  The word is formed from a Greek word muo which means to be silent. Mystery is thus a reality which drives one to a place which has no words.  The ancient world was familiar with mystery religions of all kinds.  I doubt that our modern culture would find them easy to understand or reinterpret, however hard we try to be ‘ecumenical’. Various salvific myths were staged for the initiates in the mysteries. making effective use of light and darkness.  These dramas were designed to create a sense of religious crisis in the postulant.  The dramatic light shows put on by NOS in Sheffield, Hillsong and similar megachurches are, paradoxically, the closest that our culture goes in reproducing something of the religious impact of the ancient mystery religions.  As the Old Testament reading from Isaiah this morning (Sunday) puts it: ‘For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’  This is the God beyond words, beyond concepts.  To speak at all about him we need the metaphors and images of the mystics and spiritual explorers from ancient times till today.

Returning to our title, the Greek thinkers, both pagan and Christian, had a strong attachment to beauty.   The idea or ‘form’ of beauty was something very close to their idea of God.  It was a young Greek theologian, Christos Jannaras, who, in the 60s, wrote a book in which he expressed the idea that the understanding of beauty was something that Orthodox theological tradition did well and that it was something they had to offer to the worldwide church.   This notion has followed me through the fifty+ years since I first heard it. I have, as a consequence, been keen to explore the links that seem to exist between the notion of God and beauty in whatever manifestation it appears.  There are still places in the Christian west where beauty remains a key component of worship and is understood to help bring people to God.  There are artists, poets and musicians in our culture who still help to make this vital connection between the human spirit and the God who reveals himself as beauty to so many. Of course, only a very few artists and merchants of beauty confess a Christian faith, but each of them, in different ways, are teaching us to use our God given sensitivity and awareness of beauty.  This frequently points us to God. I am grateful to all of them.

The association between God and beauty has had some practical consequences for the way I practise the Christian faith.  There will some who will not approve when I say that I have been protected from versions of Christianity that put a great deal of emphasis on the notion that to utter the correct formula of belief is somehow to ensure salvation. I feel also that I have been preserved from another exclusivist notion that there is but a single version of truth.  To belong to the spiritual world known to the mystics and represented by the word mystery, is to realise that every version of truth is one that tries to approach or come close to truth rather than to own it. To say that to know Christ is to know God does not give us the right to exclude others who use language and ideas in completely different ways. The language of mystery is above all a language that insists on humility in the face of ultimately unknowable truth. From my perspective, any exclusivism in theology is divisive and the cause of endless pain and distracting struggles for the Church.  Anglicanism in its classical form has always insisted on one special claim of inclusivism which allows me to feel at home.  It declares itself, not to be the Church but to be part of something bigger and wider – the Catholic church.  In other words, it looks beyond itself, to the Orthodox and the Catholics for its self-definition.  It enjoys, even celebrates, this self-understanding of fuzzy boundaries. There are, of course, boundaries of what is or is not acceptable in Christian teaching but probably not in the places that many people want to put them. Many older Anglicans regret an apparent shift in direction, away from this inclusive feel over its boundaries to a position of strict doctrinal correctness.  The more the Church tries to tighten the edges of its structure against others, the more it ceases to be a place of welcome.

The examples of beauty in our world are endless. Not everyone will be sensitised to more than a few of these manifestations but everyone can be taught the way that the language of beauty is a path to spiritual awareness.  Clearly in our utilitarian world, few people speak the language of beauty well.  Those who speak it at all, are, I believe, not far from God.  They may not yet speak the conventional language of Christianity but, with help from people who already have made that connection, they may be able themselves to cross over to a position of faith.  The words of the hymn will come alive for them: O worship the Lord in the Beauty of Holiness.

The ability to reflect on and examine relationships in my life as a priest has, I trust, improved with age.  Understanding difficult relationships with former colleagues has become much easier with the passing of time and the access to new insights.  No one thought to teach us at college anything about the hazards of working with a training incumbent (TI) – the difficulties of maintaining a smooth relationship with the individual who has an entire career in their hands. I had two difficult relationships with TIs.  The first was a work-weary priest of 71 who was desperately in need of a senior curate who would lift some of the burden of parish routine from his shoulders.  He was not impressed when all that was on offer was me, a newly ordained deacon.   At that point I could do none of the routine parish duties like baptisms, confirmation and marriage preparation.  I lasted seven months before my misery reached the ears of the diocesan authorities and I was allowed to move to another parish in the diocese.  In the time I served in this first parish, I had only seen the TI three times to talk about my training in the parish.  When I mention that he used to make appointments for wedding couples for 10 pm in the evening, it might convey how utterly unprepared he was to make time for the important role of nurturing and encouraging a new deacon.

My second TI was an improvement in many respects since he found time for me.  He also entrusted me with the range of parish responsibilities so that, at the end of three years, I could be said to be ready for independent responsibility.  But there were problems designed to make sure that I was not allowed to escape the stress of being a curate, under someone else’s control.  Looking back over fifty years I can see that a main stumbling block that existed was the TI’s jealousy of me.  He was unhappily married, and the effect of this spilled over into all his relationships.  I was then single and somehow he resented that I was not also caught up in an unhappy relationship.  The accommodation provided were two rooms in the Vicarage and I shared a meal with the Vicar and his wife every day.   His overall unhappiness caused him also to have a volatile temper with occasional outbursts of volcanic anger.  To add to my sense of claustrophobia and overexposure to this priest, I had no access to an independent telephone. Few parishioners were able to contact me this way.  Those who attempted it had to pass though the TI.  I had to tell people not to ring me since it was so complicated and stressful receiving phone calls.

At the end of my time in what was effectively my first curacy, I knew I needed time out from parish stress.  With the help of savings and grants, I went back to university to do two years full time research on a theme related to Eastern Orthodox studies.  Eventually, after a second curacy, I found myself as an independent incumbent in a parish in Herefordshire with three churches.  After my highly stressful period as a curate, I revelled in the independence that I now had.  Working closely with other clergy had been fraught at best and totally destructive at worst.  But there was a new aspect to my work and relationships with fellow clergy.  The Deanery chapter actually functioned fairly well.  Having our own areas of responsibility meant that we were never a threat to one another.  When we worked together, we knew that, if things got tense, we could retreat back to our patch and remain unscarred by whatever tension had flared up.

Since ‘escaping’ from the volatile atmosphere of being a curate all those years ago, I have often reflected on the topic of how clergy can work together successfully.  Although my own curate experiences were difficult, I can see that there is no reason why the TI/curate relationship should not work well.  As long as the TI has a level of self-insight and is prepared to enter imaginatively into the curate’s role, the experience should be a rewarding one for both sides.  The interaction must, however, never be assumed to be straightforward.  Both sides need to submit to external supervision to avoid the stresses that I and many (most?) other curates in the past have had to endure.    For those who work in team ministries or the newly invented mission teams, a different set of skills is required.  Here clergy are almost randomly thrust together in a theoretical position of equality. They bring their churchmanship preferences, their personal traits and their possibly unresolved psychological wounds from the past into the mix. Do we really expect them to find mutual support and peaceful cooperation in such groupings?

The role of the Anglican priest is one that attracts individuals to its ranks with a variety of personal profiles.   Although all potential candidates are now screened psychologically, that has not stopped some slipping through the system with less than honourable reasons for seeking ordination.  Some of these will involve a desire for social status with a perception that to be a clergyperson will boost a flagging self-esteem.  To put it bluntly, the clerical profession is attractive to someone high on the narcissism spectrum. Such a person will be using every opportunity to self-promote and enjoy the trappings of privilege and power without caring for the rights and sensitivities of others.   If a clergy group has to work with someone fitting this profile, it is hard to see how this group will be able ever to function successfully as a team.  There will be a great deal of stress for everyone.  The profile of narcissism among church leaders is one that I have often mentioned on this blog.  Narcissism typically combines a fragile core personality with a striving for power and status.  The narcissist will be skilled at manipulating others and do everything required to fulfil a desire to be always at the centre of attention.  If a narcissist with this profile takes control in a team or group situation, that will make the situation virtually impossible. 

A useful online discussion on narcissism that I came across yesterday, mentioned five factors about narcissism that fatally undermine relationships.  I have reworded these points to allow them to apply to failures in team working where narcissism is present in a leader. Narcissism in any relationship will destroy it very quickly.  Teams which have the misfortune of coming under narcissistic leadership also have little chance of successful working.

1. The heightened core vulnerability of the leader with narcissism would induce a sense in the team of permanently walking on eggshells.
2. The team members would be terrified of disagreeing with the leader.
3. The miasma of fear in the group would repress spontaneity (and humour!).
4. The forceful imposing of the of the will of the narcissistic leader would be corrosive on the sense of individual boundaries. Individual identities are supressed by the forcefulness of the narcissist.
5. The narcissism of the leader creates permanent tension lest the team members have to witness periodic outbursts of narcissistic rage. 

Team working in the Church of England has had a chequered history.  I have attempted to locate a good example of successful team working but have so far failed.  Team ministries that were so ubiquitous twenty years ago seem to have quietly gone out of fashion.  Perhaps someone reading this will loudly tells us that the Team Ministry concept was a brilliant idea, and that clergy were and are extremely happy to work in one. Apparent teams seem to exist in many large conservative churches in our cities. Here the church can afford to pay for large numbers of assistant clergy. Young evangelical clergy appear desperate to be appointed to one of these flagship churches. Sometimes they can remain there as curates for up to fifteen years. They are unwilling to serve in any church outside this culture, so they quietly wait their turn to take over the running one of these important churches when a vacancy comes round. Some will compromise and accept appointment to another less prestigious church within the conservative network. The flagship churches with this profile, employing large numbers of clerical staff, are not strictly teams in a practical or legal sense. The assistant clergy remain technically and functionally assistant curates. The pattern for teams in the wider C of E work with team rectors and team vicars. This scheme first appeared in the 60s. The aim was to create a team parish incorporating several churches and parishes. These parishes might have a variety of traditions, but team staff would be expected to work right across the whole area. There was the expectation that this way of working would be preferred by those who had traditionally operated alone. It was thought that clergy needed the support of their peers to operate happily in the parochial setting.

Today we still have clusters of churches which call themselves teams, but they seem still to retain much of the old territorialism of the past. In other words, there may have been a change of name but the fundamental preference for neighbourhood-based churches remains alive and well in people’s expectations. Also, the bulk of clergy would appear to prefer to work a defined ‘patch’ which is in some sense theirs.  Such territorialism is extremely tenaciously held by most clergy, and they are loath to surrender it to any new pattern.  A sense of belonging to a place is also strong among the laity.  They want, even need, to identify with a particular clergy person who acts as their vicar.  They will simply give up if the areas of clerical responsibility become so large and diffuse that clergy and laypeople can no longer regard it in any sense as theirs.

Clergy have hitherto not been known for their skill at being part of genuine teams.  There are many things that get in the way of easy working relationships – theological outlook, temperament, personal insecurities and ambition.  For the Church of England to be requiring so many clergy to work in structures that defy tradition and clerical temperament, is risky in the extreme.  Over the course of my ministry, I have watched clergy facing appalling stressful situations, caused by often having to work in toxic proximity to other clergy with problematic profiles. For a team to have a sporting chance of working, you need every member of the team to have a extremely healthy psychological make-up where narcissism is completely absent.  That would appear to be a tall order. As far as I know, no one has studied the way that clergy seem to have long ministries when they are given independent responsibility.  Conversely, they appear far less happy when they are forced to operate in structures that deny them any ownership of their working environment.   Mission teams may look fine on paper, but, when they are strictly implemented, they will likely cause high stress and unhappiness within the Church as a whole. That cost will be hard to bear.        

One of the things we demand, when reading fiction or watching dramas on television, is that these fictional pieces have satisfying conclusions. The conclusion may not always count as a happy ending, but we do have a need to see loose threads tied up.  The reader or watcher wants to believe that the world is basically an ordered and moral place, even if they know that this is not always true in reality. James Bond films illustrate well the victory of good in a fictional setting.  However much the arch-villain may seem to have Bond in his control at some point in the plot, we know that something will come along to save our hero and reverse the situation of despotic power and the attempts at world domination.

Conclusions or happy endings are expected in the world of fictional drama.  In real life they happen far less often, even though we may crave them.   In the real world we frequently encounter situations that are left unresolved, where the forces of goodness do not seem to prevail, and individuals put up with unhappiness and pain. When there is an event involving abuse against a vulnerable person, there can never be a truly happy ending. The most one can look for is for justice to be obtained and that skilful support for those wounded will be found.  Even this outcome is not always achieved. The trauma of abuse is likely to leave its mark for the whole of a victim’s life and have unforeseeable consequences.  Money and therapy can contribute towards the needed healing, but what they can achieve is never close to a completed task.

 One of the things that happens for me as the editor of this blog, is to receive a number of stories which seem to have no possibility of a tidy outcome. Two words, already mentioned, sum up the minimum that might be required for abuse victims to have a chance to begin to rebuild their lives.  These words are justice and care.  I hear about incidents of abuse of all kinds, some from long ago.  More often, what these survivors want to share with me is not the event of abuse itself, but the later processes and institutional obstacles that have been placed in their way as they seek justice and support.  We could claim to see these obstacles as a further experience of abuse.  What has had to be endured by a survivor seeking justice and care is nearly always a two-stage process.  First there is the original abuse with all its accompanying psychological and physical trauma.   Then there is the battle to have that pain acknowledged by the institutions which had incubated the abuser in some way.  Further, these organisations are neglecting to respond in anything like an adequate way when the evil is finally exposed. 

Today (Sunday) there is an important story in the Sunday Times which seems, for the first time, to give a legal acceptance of the fact that sexual abuse can be perpetrated against an individual in two stages.  The story in Sunday’s paper is a Catholic one, but the implication of the story is of importance to all churches.  The story indicates that any deliberate ‘othering’ of survivors by a church body is of interest and concern to the courts.  In the ST story, a female survivor had been abused by an RC priest at the age of 15.  Legal compensation was eventually awarded to this victim by the Catholic authorities.  Of much greater interest to all those who have witnessed the way that survivors are often mistreated by church institutions, is the second case taken out against the Catholic Church.  This second case that was heard, quite separate from the first, related to attempts by the Church to intimidate and belittle the victim as she fought for justice and the recognition of her abuse.  In short, the Catholic Church has been called to account and penalised for the institutional bullying of a victim seeking justice.  The case against the Church will be a shot across the bows for all those in the churches who instruct their legal teams to undermine and discredit victims/survivors in sexual abuse cases.  The case of Julie McFarlane contained a harrowing account of how she had to stand up to aggressive questioning from lawyers employed by the Church in their attempts to undermine her testimony.  Hopefully such bullying behaviour in legal cases against survivors will be less tolerated in the future.

The emails I receive from individuals around the country describe some immensely complicated snarl-ups in the system of safeguarding around the country.  Officially we have full-time diocesan safeguarding officers (DSOs) all over the country, but still, we do not find consistency in their professional training or abilities.  Two problems quickly arise for these officers. One is the fact that no one has really defined the professional skills required for a DSO.  I have before outlined the managerial and the pastoral skills that would seem to be basic.  Then there is needed an understanding of law and the cluster of skills associated with social work.  Last, but not least, the DSO needs to have some grasp of theological language which may be used by survivors and church officials.  When the role of DSO finally acquires its own professional training scheme at a post-graduate level, then perhaps this range of skills will be defined in a way that helps to end this pot-luck approach to the appointment and deployment of DSOs around the country.

The second range of skills needed by our DSOs is far tougher. It is the ability to survive in structures which are sometimes dysfunctional to the point of creating unbearable levels of stress. Much of what is confidentially described to me of the inner workings of safeguarding within dioceses, suggests sometimes almost impossible working conditions for everyone involved.  Officially, DSOs act independently and outside the official diocesan structures.  In practice, they have to battle to preserve this independence.  To describe this as difficult to achieve, is an understatement.  It is hard to see how a DSO is supposed to behave in a highly politicised arena such as the Southwark diocese. Someone senior in the diocese, probably not the DSO, made the well-publicised decision to suspend and subsequently reinstate Stephen Kuhrt. Previously a senior diocesan figure kept Jonathan Fletcher’s loss of his PTO in 2017 firmly under wraps.  This latter decision was kept so confidential that not even his constituency bishop, Rod Thomas, was told. A section of this blog has been removed following a legal request.

The sheer variety of standards and modes of practice among the safeguarding officers currently employed by the Church around the country provides an unpredictable environment for abuse cases to be dealt with well. What do people in the pew or among the clergy demand from a competent safeguarding officer? The thing they want to see above all is a person who is compassionate and listening, preserving a professional independence.  No one wishes to have their negative experience of abuse compounded by an unfeeling toxic institutional response, one which is denying, defensive and totally lacking in compassion.    It must be possible for a system of reporting abuse to be fair, just and preserving confidentiality.  The people who write to me are often not being heard because the system of safeguarding is often politicised in a way to prevent it having integrity.  Whenever church lawyers, archdeacons, DSOs and even bishops are thought to be manipulating the system in any way to suit their partisan purposes, the structures cannot function as they should.  People of goodwill are squeezed out from the structures by these failures.  We need to be able to insert that integrity back into the institutional structures before it is lost for ever.

It is some months since I mentioned the organisation called Hillsong, a network of churches which began life in Sydney, Australia.  The Hillsong group is notable for its huge wealth and apparent success in promoting a brand of charismatic Christianity across the world. It is now found in 30 countries and in 131 congregations.  One key to its distinctiveness, wealth and appeal is the range of Hillsong worship songs composed within the organisation.  These generate enormous sums of money in royalty payments.  Their popularity fills venues wherever they are played. If we were looking for an example of a church which is successful in terms of gaining new adherents, appealing to the young and achieving financial affluence, we need look no further than Hillsong.

More recently, some of the shine has gone off the Hillsong brand and it has been in the news for the wrong reasons.  Some of its youthful leaders have been removed after being accused of inappropriate relationships with young women in the congregation.  There have also been allegations of money being used for illicit purposes.  I do not intend to rehearse the details of these cases, as anyone interested can easily do a Google search for themselves.  Neither do I wish to pontificate here on the age-old question on whether it is ever right to describe inappropriate relationships as ‘affairs’.  Regardless of whether or not the erring leaders are married, relationships with members of a congregation inevitably involve a power differential that raises a variety of problematic issues. 

We need to return to the question of what has made Hillsong so successful up till now?  Is it that the group has found leaders with charismatic personalities who know how to create an experience of the numinous in a large crowd ?    Is it just the quality and appeal of the music?  Have they found a style of preaching that reaches the unspoken longings of their young congregations?  It is likely a combination of all these things that successfully fill Hillsong venues around the world.  Celebrity preachers, catchy music and large crowd experience will always appeal to a considerable section of the population.  And yet there are problems.   These problems are likely to be similar to those you can expect to find in any large organisation.  The reports of bullying and sexual and financial misconduct that have started to swirl around Hillsong are completely unsurprising when you consider that many of the leaders are young and inexperienced in handling considerable power and responsibility.  Behind the misuse and abuse of sex and money, I detect a failure of effective oversight by those at the top of this substantial organisation.  Power, charisma and authoritative teaching are intoxicating but dangerous tools to put in the hands of these very young congregational leaders.  Are we really surprised when such power is abused?  The whole environment is a volatile mix, able to go wrong at any moment.  These young male leaders (women do not have leadership roles in Hillsong) will frequently have their heads turned by this combination of wealth, the adoring presence of numerous young people, together with the ability to exercise real power over the body and souls of so many.  Adoring acolytes may well be grateful for the scraps of attention coming from these leaders on stage.  As far as the leaders are concerned, some may have been attracted to the role because it is a way of satisfying a narcissistic need to have their egos boosted and inflated.   The opportunity to be at the centre and exercise this glamorous charismatic/celebrity role will certainly accomplish this. While we would not claim that every Hillsong leader has a narcissistic personality, we would suggest that the atmosphere in which they work is not psychologically a healthy one, particularly over a period of time.  There are, in any Hillsong event, powerful currents of energy that operate in ways that are quite likely to become addictive and unhealthily gratifying to the leaders and the led.  When the literature on narcissism speaks about narcissistic feeding, it is normally describing what is going on in a one-to-one relationship.   One side is boosting the sense of importance of the narcissist through constant flattery and attention.  The narcissistic feeding that takes place in a crowd setting is of a different order.  Standing on a stage as the visible focus of a crowd’s search for God, the worship leader may have an intoxicating experience of being fed narcissistically and in the process enjoying a sensation of raw power.  In a previous post I have described what I call situational narcissism.  This is when an event or a situation satisfies the need and longing in an individual for grandiosity, self-inflation and messianism.  All these are typical objects of longing and hunger which are felt by the narcissist and which he is constantly seeking to assuage.  What may begin as a pleasurable experience of high self-esteem, may eventually become an addictive need.  This is so damaging to those who are drawn in to become in various victims of the one with an insatiable narcissistic appetite.    

An interesting article, written by Elle Hardy, appeared a week or so ago in the Guardian newspaper . She has been studying Hillsong and its franchised congregations for some years. She makes a number of very interesting observations. Like me she finds the advent of scandal in these circles unsurprising in view of the age and immaturity of many of the leaders. She goes on to make a further observation which is interesting.   If churches like Hillsong were to adopt stricter forms of safeguarding practice, this would have the effect of dampening the spontaneity on which the church depends for much of its character and success.  In other words, it is these personal displays of spontaneous charisma displayed by the leaders that creates the buzz and the fireworks.  These are all part of the Hillsong experience.  The Hillsong authorities have a difficult decision to make.  Do you let charisma with the attendant anarchy built into it have free reign, or do you impose regulations that ensure the churches are less spontaneous in order to provide a greater sense of order and safety?

Hillsong in 2021 feels a little bit like a domestic animal which has become difficult to control. The culture, charisma, power and wealth of the organisation have been welded together to create a chaotic mix.  In that scenario, there is always the potential for things to go seriously wrong  Are we, in other words, really surprised at what is going on?

The current misfortunes of the Hillsong franchise are issues being experienced by similar groups across the world.  More and more people are becoming aware that youth, charisma, sexuality and narcissism are combining together in a way that makes some kinds of church experience unsafe.  As a Church, we still lack that ability to discern what may be really going on in some ‘successful’ churches.  Because we do not really understand the power dynamics of charismatic congregations when things are outwardly going well, do we have any chance of analysing what is going on when things suddenly turn sour, and people are hurt?  Some of us are still processing the events at Emmanuel Wimbledon where a ministry of 30 years is now seen to have allowed a variety of manipulative/abusive practices to take hold.  We also had a dress-rehearsal for Jonathan Fletcher in the Nine O’Clock Service in Sheffield 25 years ago.  As I have often said in this blog, we need to have a far better understanding of the dynamics of large groups and the way that people with abusive personalities can hide unchallenged in plain sight.  The Smyth drama uncovered by Andrew Graystone in his book revealed, among many other things, an obscene and blind loyalty to institutions and the church leaders. This further harmed the abused and the weak.

The title of a book by David Shepherd in the 80s and used by many others since as a slogan, is Bias to the Poor.  That is a phrase that could well be recommended to be followed by the entire Church in its need to re-examine its attitude to the meaning of success within the institution. Hitherto we have got used to praising and lionising big, wealthy and successful churches.  These are the ones that appear to be delivering what is required in terms of success and increased membership.  To misquote another book title, large does not mean beautiful.  Far too often, the large church, in terms of numbers, is a place where leadership is corrupted, the weak are bullied and abused and evil is allowed to find a home.  Hillsong is a warning for our times.  The big flashy congregations, with celebrity leaders who are larger than life, are places of danger.  Far too many, both leaders and led, become addicted to forms of worship and church life which pander more to narcissistic need rather than to an opening up the glory and truth of God.  When there is any kind of addiction in church life, critical thinking goes out of the window.  What is left is the roar of the crowd baying to be gratified by instant stimulation, alongside the complete absence of silence and reflection. 

I do not remember at what age I was introduced to two important principles traditionally embodied in the legal system of England. It may have been in a lesson about Magna Carta. Somewhere along the line in my education, I imbibed two key ideas about the administration of justice in this country.  The first principle states that everyone is deemed to be innocent unless proved guilty. The second principle is that if a person receives a verdict of not guilty in a court setting, then this decision, whether made by jury or judge, is taken to be the final word on the matter.  Because of the double jeopardy idea, it is not possible to keep trying again and again, using the same evidence but with different juries, to find someone guilty of a crime.  I am sure that there might have been some push-back in my class, putting forward the notion that guilty people might get away with crimes through having a good lawyer.  Whatever our feelings about the justice system in particular cases, most people accept that it generally works well.  One special feature of the justice practised in the UK is that we are entirely free of political interference.  The moment judges anywhere in the world become pawns to a political system, left or right, that is a moment when these societies begin to deteriorate, to become a cesspit of instability caused by an arbitrary use of power.  We can be grateful for our British system of justice. This has been honed over many centuries to provide us with access to a fair and reliable system of interpreting and operating the law.

The political manipulation of justice is something that I met in Greece during the 60s. Individuals were thrown into jail for having incorrect opinions or being seen as some kind of threat to the right-wing junta. This political oppression affected me directly, but not in the sense that I feared for my own personal safety.  My problem was that although my studies took me into making contact with all social groups, there were some well-connected individuals who feared any contact with someone from abroad.  Even carrying a letter of introduction signed by the then archbishop, Michael Ramsey, could not penetrate these barriers of fear and self-protection that some had built around themselves.  Opinions were things that you kept very private in case the wrong person was listening to your conversation. Then your job and even your freedom could be under threat.

The memory of living in a country where the legal system was exercised in an arbitrary way is something that I have retained over the years. In this country my dealings with the police and the justice system have been, thankfully, infrequent.  The few encounters with the justice system have never caused me any sense of anxiety about the fundamental soundness of the institution, even though I realise that is not the experience of all. Justice in Britain seems to work most of the time.  It came as something of a shock to me to realise that one place where arbitrary justice is sometimes found today is in the Church of England.  In Friday’s Church Times there was an important article written by Peter Selby, a former Bishop of Worcester and Bishop to HM prisons. He has noticed that recent cases in the Church have indicated a less than robust concern for the basic principles of justice that every child in school used to be taught. His main concern is the case of Fr Griffin but the Christ Church saga is also noted.  The principle of innocent until proved guilty was evidently ignored in the careless collecting of a ‘brain-dump’ of unsubstantiated gossip by an official in the Diocese of London.  The way this information had been collected gave those targeted by this rumour and gossip no opportunity to challenge the information gathered about them.  There was, in short, no way to establish their innocence.  A fundamental principle for the maintenance of justice was thus being denied. 

Peter Selby also reminds us about the case of Martyn Percy, where there also seems to be a complete breakdown of some of the principles of normal legal protocol as enshrined in English law. The Dean has been faced with accusations which total over 40 in number. Up till now every one of these has been examined and rejected in turn by individuals of high legal standing from within the State or Church’s legal system. We do not need to remind the reader that nowhere in the Christ Church process have we witnessed the normal assumptions of innocence.  Indeed, we see the opposite.  Neither the College nor the Diocese of Oxford have shown any respect for this or, indeed, the other principle that a declaration by a judge of effective innocence of a crime marks the end of a legal process.  I confess myself baffled by the fact that the ruling of the top judge, Dame Sarah Asplin, should seem to be ignored and the same viciously restrictive protocols are still applied to Percy as though he is an acute safeguarding risk.  These are reinforced by both Church and College. The most painful part of the whole process is the chronic lack of any sense of urgency.  Surely as far as church processes are concerned, the ruling by Dame Sarah should have resulted in some immediate response by either the NST, the Oxford Safeguarding Team or even the Bishop of Oxford himself?  Instead of decisions and action, we have witnessed agonising silence and paralysis within the system. This suggests that safeguarding protocols are simply not functioning properly in the diocese.  A more accurate description might be to say that there is at present a situation of complete shambles.  If the church authorities do know something about Percy’s behaviour that they have not yet revealed, then that might justify a delay. In the absence of anything new, the effect of delay is deeply corrosive to any building up of trust between bishop and the people of the diocese.  Might one suggest that part of the problem is that both persecutory entities, the Church and the College, have been employing the same legal firm, Winckworth Sherwood to pursue their agendas?  This firm, at least, has a financial stake in creating delay and prolonging the processes for as long as possible.  Let us hope that the Charity Commission will soon step in to end the charade of legal process that passes for justice in the topsy turvy world of Christ Church and the diocese of Oxford.    

In viewing the two chronic legal situations unfolding in London and Oxford, we are left with many questions.  Why should senior church people in London and Oxford act with so little regard for the legal rights of individuals, let alone follow the dictates of Christian charity?   Surely there must be some around the respective bishops who realise that what has been going on in each place contravenes the principles of natural justice?  As things stand at present, the dioceses of Oxford and London seem to be firmly on the wrong side of justice and, indeed, of history. How could anyone disagree with the President of the Tribunals in her remarks about the Percy case or the coroner in the Griffin case? The issues in each case are, of course, different.  In one case sloppy bureaucracy seems to be to blame.  In the other there seems to be a visible working out of personal animosities.  In this latter case we find a deliberate unhelpful failure by the Bishop to support his Dean.  He now seems to be ignoring the finding of the Church’s President of Tribunals that whatever one believes happened in that brief meeting between the Dean and his accuser, it was neither sexual in character ( as some – though not the accuser – implied ) neither did it constitute “ serious misconduct”. Might the Bishop tell us why he thinks this does not make a difference to the restrictions which were imposed before such expert analysis was brought into play. It is one thing for a college to complain about their Head of House; it is quite another for a diocesan bishop to collude with these charges and allow the imposition of an absurd and disproportionate list of prohibitions. Does Bishop Croft wish to go down in history as the bishop who used his power to attempt to enforce a legal process so demonstratively cruel and unjust?   One is reminded, at this point, of the story in the gospels where Beelzebub was invoked as being behind Jesus’ power.  Jesus makes the comment about a kingdom which cannot stand when it is divided. The Bishop’s failure to offer any support for the Dean has dealt a divisive and traumatising blow against his whole diocese.  Will this act of apparent malevolence be the event for which Bishop Steven will be most remembered in future decades?  

Bishop Selby gives us two examples of senior church leaders ignoring natural justice and, in the process, doing much damage to the wider Church. I am still looking for someone outside the immediate circle of these two bishops who is prepared to interpret their actions in a more generous way than has been done so far. In the Percy case,  I am aware of the cluster of College clergy and dons prepared to make outrageous assertions in their position of opposing the Dean.  Does anybody really believe that Percy is another Peter Ball, a comment ascribed to one Christ Church canon?  So far I have read nothing to indicate that anybody in the Church is actively supporting these two bishops and the way they have been behaving. Two clergymen have been denied access to the normal protocols of justice. One has taken his own life in a tragic suicide. In the Oxford case, Dean Percy still hangs on after three years of almost constant vicious persecution. The persecution is partly college initiated but there is an unseemly sight of a group of Cathedral clergy also involved in this cruelty. If there is indeed another story to be told about Percy’s malfeasance, it has not reached the public domain.  When all we are offered is silence and absurd rumours, we are forced to come to our own conclusions, ones which are not favourable to the Bishop or Percy’s enemies.

This blog has many times had cause to question the administration of justice in the Church of England.  The ability to trust the authority of bishops and authorities in the Church is an important prerequisite for the population outside church membership if they are ever to consider the claims of Christ.  If the existing servants of the Church are regarded as unreliable or, worse still, dishonest, then it is hard to see anyone wanting to join local congregations. Many future generations of children in France are unlikely to find a sense of safety in the Catholic fold after the recent exposures.  The same situation will apply when there are increasing failures of justice towards clergy in our Church.  Double standards in the Southwark diocese with regard to Jonathan Fletcher and Stephen Kuhrt has also left many of us perplexed.  There is a sense that the church seems totally out of its depth, even in administering its own rules and protocols. Once again, we come back to the plea that independent oversight is needed to save the church from its own disastrous decision making. If the church cannot deliver consistent justice, it ceases to be a safe place either for its employees or its members.

 By Edmund Weiner

In this guest post Edmund Weiner, a Iwerne alumnus, reassesses, in the light of Graystone’s book, his attitude to the Iwerne camps and the wider evangelical constituency of the Church of England. Among his memories, he makes the telling observation that the Iwerne camps did not implant into his mind any systematic structure of Christian teaching.  What remains in his memory are the words and music of CSSM choruses, a prominent feature of camp worship.   His post Iwerne experience in evangelicalism, which eventually led to a ‘parting company’ with the movement, is explored.  The reader obtains a flavour in this piece of the way that one Iwernite pilgrim negotiated his way through and beyond the evangelical institutions of his youth. We are given some new insights with which to understand better what, to some of us, is still a strange Christian culture. – Editor

In my previous contribution to this blog, I rather dismissed the suggestion that Iwerne was a cult. But reading Bleeding for Jesus has disturbed and shaken my previously quite positive attitude to Iwerne. I agree with the general feeling that labelling the movement a cult is not particularly helpful. The important thing is to identify the actual quality of Iwerne that underlies the feeling that the label cult could apply. In what I say below I’m trying to identify from my personal experience what that might be.

I parted company with the con-evo Anglican church thirty years ago (I was a committed Christian before joining it). Subsequently, I associated the bad experiences that led me to leave it, but which nonetheless dogged me for at least another decade, with the general ethos of evangelicalism that I picked up as a fervent member of my university Christian Union. I did not especially connect it with the Iwerne Minster camps which I attended during my undergraduate years fifty years back. In fact I tended to look back on the Iwerne experience slightly more positively, or perhaps more indulgently, than on my experiences in the CU, the various churches that I later attended, and the other evangelical groups that I belonged to.

But after reading Graystone I now regard my pleasant feelings about those camps with a certain degree of suspicion. For one thing, why have I not got — and why did I not have, twenty-five years ago, before ageing set in — the slightest memory of any of the talks given to the whole camp, or of any of the numerous Bible readings and Bible studies for officers and senior campers, which I attended? It’s odd, because the sentimental CSSM choruses that we all sang, over and over, are stamped on my memory: I could sing you a dozen of them if you could endure it! Were these the emotionally-charged honey which carried the pill of Iwerne teaching into my system? By contrast, I can certainly remember bits and pieces from Bible readings and Bible studies in the Christian Union, where the atmosphere, though quite intense, nevertheless partook much more of the general feel of university life, in which you discussed and critiqued your ideas, and your peers with different beliefs could scrutinize them. 

The Iwerne setting was very different from this. The academic world, the family world, the normal world, were all shut out. Everyone in the group was on side. Everyone around you was ultra friendly. You were kept frantically busy from morning to night, so that when the talks and studies came round, you were ready to relax all your faculties and give yourself over to whatever was on offer.  The use of isolation, intense friendliness, exhausting activities, heightened emotion, and simple, direct teaching have been identified as key elements in brainwashing. Now, I certainly don’t believe that we were brainwashed coercively, as people were under communism or still are within movements widely labelled as religious cults. I think it was a great deal more subtle. My hypothesis is that we were enticed into brainwashing ourselves. I think it was a profound inner pressure rather than an outward one. 

Clearly, successfully conditioned Iwernites to end up with very similar sets of beliefs, similar ways of speaking, dressing, and even wielding filofaxes, but I wonder now whether this is driven not so much by a need to conform to a group per se, as by an inner attitude, willingly adopted, that imperceptibly controls a person’s whole being: an ‘interior cult’, one might call it.

I did not become a Iwernite. After being let go by Iwerne, without any warnings, reproaches, or even expressions of regret from them, I continued life as an ‘ordinary’ evangelical for twenty years. But far from settling into a cheerful routine of believing and doing all the right things, I constantly questioned and examined the Christian assumptions and practices around me. There was an ongoing inner dialogue. I tried earnestly to make my understanding of the evo Way work. I wanted it to do for me what it said on the tin. It never quite did. I tried charismaticism in various forms. I frequently reached the point of disillusion, but something within repeatedly drew me back to what I came to think of as an ‘absolutist’, all-or-nothing commitment. The final such rebound brought me into a church splinter group with various extreme ideas, such as manipulative ‘prayer counselling’. The year we spent with them was extremely deleterious for me and my family. Its one and only benefit was that I finally woke up to the toxicity of evangelicalism (as I had practised it) and liberated myself from it.

What I’m saying in a perhaps long-winded way is that I’m now beginning to think that the toxic attitude that heavily influenced my thinking for twenty years was not caught in a general way from the CU, but was implanted quite specifically by the refined methodology of Iwerne. I’ve called it ‘absolutism’. I’m quite prepared to concede that some people have an element in their make-up that predisposes them to it more than others (my wife, for example, never caught the bug). But that doesn’t lessen the fact that it’s deeply embedded in Iwerneism. It’s an all-or-nothing teaching that ‘Bash’ imbibed from his mentor R. A. Torrey: the idea of ‘total surrender’ to God. 

I never succeeded in ‘surrendering’ fully to God, but spent years feeling guiltily that this was really what you should do. The people who teach this doctrine have ingeniously seized the high moral ground, since every Christian who disagrees with it thereby makes himself or herself feel like a half-hearted, compromising worldling. However, I’m inclined to think that at least some of those who successfully ‘surrender’ to God in this way undergo, not a genuine experience of God’s grace, but a dangerous act of psychological self-mutilation that can lead them into callousness and exploitative behaviour. I could say more, but I’ll leave it at that.

Those of us who were ordained some years ago will sometimes express puzzlement at the terminology used to describe the work of the parish church today.  We may have a special problem with the word ‘mission’ as it is sprinkled throughout many church documents.  I expressed bafflement at the use of the word by the diocese of Winchester.  The diocesan slogan, ‘Living the Mission of Jesus’ has no obvious meaning, even though we could hazard a guess at what the author had in mind.  I wonder what the next Bishop of Winchester will do with this catchphrase and whether it will be quietly shelved along with other initiatives designed to make the diocese more mission aware.  For clergy of my vintage, mission in a parish was what we were trying to do all the time.  The work of prayer and worship, good pastoral care, learning and spiritual growth gave to each congregation a spiritual dynamic which, we hoped, would overflow into the wider community.  People did not necessarily come to the church, but the faithful living out of the reality of God by those who did, could act like yeast working on the dough.  There was mission and growth, though such growth was seldom spectacular. The Church, in short, was an institution which, in many places, dovetailed into the wider society.  This was in spite of the fact that only a small minority supported it by their presence and their financial giving. As William Temple put it, the Church is the only organisation set up for the benefit of those who are not its members.

The mission imperative being loudly proposed for congregations everywhere has now become so ubiquitous in church documents that many are wondering if this involves a fundamental change in the old understanding of the role of the parish church in society.  Mission seems to mean making new disciples as the number one priority.  The implications of this understanding of the word are profound, practically and theologically.  The old model saw the presence of God everywhere, even among those who did not attend church or want anything to do with the Church’s teaching.  The new use of the word mission seems to regard society beyond the congregation being a mission-field, full of the unsaved.  Everyone who does not come to church is deemed to be in need of saving or rescuing.   The imperative is for us to go out to rescue these unsaved people and pull them out of the fire as though they were burning sticks which are potentially lost for ever.  The older gentle agnosticism about the fate of non-churchgoers that the yeast dough model implied, seems to be out of fashion.    The old vision of the parish church being a spiritual hub at the heart of every community also seems to be less in vogue.  We believed that when the prayerful and dedicated work of Christian people in a community is being accomplished, there will always be trickle of new people coming in.  They will arrive wanting to find what it is that inspires these acts of service and generosity on the part of Christians. 

In each of the parishes where I have served, I have always had the privilege and responsibility for setting the priorities for the church’s efforts in service and outreach.  I would not have found it easy to do this alongside people who do not share my ‘fuzzy edge’ approach to ministry.  By this term I am describing a reluctance to say that one person is a Christian while another is not.  When we get into making a decision about who is ‘saved’ and who is damned, we are in dangerous territory.  Fuzzy edge theology allows one to reach out to respond to need without speculating over the state of the individual’s immortal soul.  That is the task of God alone.  Visiting right across the community and the care of the sick, the elderly and the dying were always at the top of my priorities.  Any narrow focus on mission would have been difficult to sustain alongside my role and that of my parish as having the task of service and care.  Working solo for most of my ministry did have some advantages.  I did not have to justify every decision as to how my time was allocated. One practical outcome of my prioritising visiting was that in a population of two and half thousand, I seldom had to bury anyone that I did not know.  In those days, the 90s, when we were burying most of those who died in the parish, I never found myself without some prior knowledge of the departed. Good neighbour schemes and my own pattern of visiting ensured that I was able to maintain links with the entire elderly population.

When the Archbishops of Canterbury and York both speak about the retention of the parish church as an important ingredient in future church life, I imagine that each has been influenced by their memories which are similar to my own.  As former incumbents, they will each remember the importance and value of the autonomy given to them by the parish system. And yet at the moment, we are being presented from different directions with something quite different from that way of doing things.  This surely must make both them and the many clergy trained before the turn of the millennium quite uncomfortable.

The Diocese of Leicester is holding a Synod this coming Saturday the 9^th.  Members attending are voting on a proposal that Synod will approve the diocesan framework of Minster Communities (MCs). The proposal is that the 340 churches and 220 parishes in the diocese be brought into clusters within 20 to 25 of these MCs. Serving the MCs will be 80 to 90 stipendiary staff. The main focus word for these MCs is the word mission. Each one will consist of a group of parishes combined with Fresh Expressions churches and schools, all brought together to conduct the task of mission. Overseeing each MC will be a diverse ministry team.  This will consist of clergy, licensed lay ministers and Head Teachers.

The Minster model of ministry, as it is called, has a history going back over a thousand years to Saxon times.  One central hub church oversees various smaller worship centres in a fixed area. In one modern manifestation of this principle, church planting by a central well-supported church, has successfully introduced new disciples into the congregation.  The church planting schemes sponsored by charismatic churches as HTB in London and Hillsong in Sydney have achieved some success.   I am not aware of this model being tried in a non-charismatic/HTB context.  The way the scheme in this setting operates is a bit like a MacDonald’s franchise.  A pre-packaged style of church outreach, complete with message, music and leadership is taken by a small group into an empty building or a redundant church.  This small founding group tend to be young, enthusiastic and able to respond to the modern styles of music on offer.  The seed congregation then reach out to other young people like themselves and the congregation quite often, in terms of numbers, takes off.   Whatever we think about Holy Trinity Brompton and its impressive mission outreach, it is clear that it does not operate in traditional Anglican ways. At its heart is a single model of teaching and truth which most clergy would find oppressive or even claustrophobic. Most clergy value the inclusive range of styles offered by traditional Anglicanism, and they enjoy the opportunity to be flexible in their ministry.  Many of the older parish priests among us will also wonder how far the HTB style of ministry serves the over 60s.  Their expectation of the local parish is more towards to discovering those aspects of faith which offer reassurance during their final years.   Making new disciples may be one of the priorities of a parish.  However, if mission is ever made the sole or main focus of the parish, as seems to be the case in the Leicester proposal, then other things will get crowded out and ignored. These are precisely the things that are traditional parish priest, such as me, would miss dreadfully.

The Leicester paper is perhaps typical of new thinking within the Church of England about the future of parish life. On close inspection it fails to embrace the traditional Anglican respect for diversity.  This can only be preserved in a large number of semi-autonomous units.  Currently we tolerate an enormous diversity in the way clergy are trained.  We cannot then immediately remove this respect and practice of a wide variety of cultures soon after the candidate has left theological college to become part of one of these monolithic MCs.   They will, of course, not necessarily be following the HTB model in every case, but it is still hard to see how each MC will establish a working theological/cultural model of the Anglican style which all in leadership can agree to follow.  A corporate shudder has gone through the entire Church of England recently when we discovered how many of our current generation of theological leaders have been nurtured through the quasi-cultic mentoring system practised at the Iwerne camps. The MC idea will never be able to accommodate the sheer variety of important (and valuable) theological differences in the Church. If some Anglican traditions have, for the sake of agreement, to be suppressed within a MC, then there will be a build-up of tension.  It will give rise to the same kind of unhappiness that we have seen in the Winchester diocese. In Winchester the church authorities seemed to have believed that a slogan heavy version of conservative theology could unite the diocese.  That was a dangerous damaging fantasy.  I fear also that pretending that MCs can each embody the cultural and theological breadth of Anglicanism will also prove to be a fantasy. This will have far reaching consequences for the happiness of clergy and people in the Leicester diocese.

Both Archbishops have protested that the parish system is safe under their watch. The debate to take place in Leicester on Saturday would seem to weaken that promise. The only way that the Leicester diocese can be theologically and structurally united under a scheme of this kind, is if every clergyman were to be a fully paid-up member of something similar to the HTB methods of church planting and mission.  That seems to be the only successful current example of the MC idea actually in operation. As the HTB way of doing things does not enjoy widespread support, are the authorities expecting to expel from the diocese anyone who does not wish to become part of this great untried experiment to bring about their desire for mission and discipling? How can such a scenario come to pass? The only way would be to simply sack those clergy who cannot work in such a structure.  Are we to see a Winchester type culling of posts/clergy who do not fit into a conservative vision for the future of the whole diocese? That would appear to be a terrible cost, one the church cannot afford.

One of the questions raised in Andrew Graystone’s book, Bleeding for Jesus, is whether the Iwerne movement should be considered a cult?  He writes (p200): I sometimes reflect on whether it would be appropriate to call the Iwerne movement a cult. It is a rather arbitrary classification, since there is no agreed definition of a cult; one person’s cult is another person’s highly successful religious movement. The boundary between what is legitimate exercise of religious freedom and what is abusive mind-control can be hard to draw. This makes it all the more important to determine some markers of orthodoxy, if only for the protection of vulnerable believers. I want here to reflect further on this question. Graystone’s mention of this word cult allows us to explore further to see if the Iwerne movement strays into this dangerous territory.  Here, in the world of so-called cults, people can sometimes suffer real harm.   I have lived with the word and the realities implicit in it for over a decade through my membership of the International Cultic Studies Association (ICSA).  I have come to see that the word cult is a useful shorthand for particular harmful religious or political groups.  Usually, however, the word needs to be avoided.  The main reason for side-stepping the word cult is that its use, in some contexts, is disputed and the cause of misunderstanding.  The problematic nature of the word is especially found in two areas of discourse.

1.  The word cult has, I believe, no validity in a court of law.  It is not acceptable for the simple reason it has no universally accepted meaning.  If lawyers cannot agree on what a word means, the best that can be done is to find other words or expressions that do have meaning and precision in a court of law.  This has happened as we shall see below.
2. The word cult is highly contentious among some scholars and students of contemporary religious movements.  There are some scholars who are extremely hesitant to identify any religious group as being intrinsically harmful.  Calling a group a cult is a kind of name-calling, and does little to convey precisely what is being asserted about it.  If people have indeed been, in some way, harmed by choosing to join a religious group, it was as the result of a mature personal decision, assuming they were adults when they joined.  They have to accept their responsibility for having made a bad choice.  These scholars will also argue over expressions like brainwashing and indoctrination, querying whether such things even exist.  Other scholars, more sympathetic to the cult idea, will want to emphasise the involuntary aspects of cult membership.  Genuine choice may have been absent in the recruitment process at the beginning of membership.  The literature explores how joining a harmful cultic group can take place at a moment of extreme psychological vulnerability.  There may be, for example, an acute need to belong.  The guru or cult leader may also be exercising any one of a variety of coercive psychological techniques, such as chanting or hypnosis, to draw members in.  The leader’s motivation may be to serve his own psychological needs.  These are being met by the exercise of domination and control over others.  The typical young person’s search for meaning and certainty provides an opportunity for a leader to gain kudos, personal power and maybe other sources of gratification.

Andrew Graystone’s original question and the title to this post is probably then unanswerable because of these problems that cluster around this use of the word at the centre of the question.  Nevertheless, such a question, even when unanswered, remains an important one, even if we need a change of wording.  Fortunately, legal terminology comes to our rescue by providing two expressions which do have currency in legal discourse.  It is these words/terms that point to the possibility that, at some time in the future, the legal system may become more active in the oversight of what we might consider to be harmful expressions of religious practice.  Most of the readers of this blog will be familiar from their own experience of religiously inspired activities that can, on occasion, do serious harm to adherents. 

The two expressions which have currency in legal terminology and are useful in describing what many people mean by cult, are the terms ‘undue influence’ and ‘coercive ‘control’.  Undue influence is a legal term which goes back centuries in English law. It implies that one party is exercising influence over another in order to persuade them to act in ways that do not benefit their interests. It is normally used in legal arguments relating to money or property matters.   A good example would be where a vulnerable person comes under pressure to change their will.  There is one fascinating English legal case from the 19^th century which brings the concept of undue influence into a religious context. A young woman had joined a Roman Catholic community in the 19^th-century.  She was deemed by a court to be unable to decide on the right way to administer her property, once she had become a full member of the community. The community of nuns was felt to exercise an undue influence over her so that she was no longer deemed to be a free agent in making decisions.  The principle of undue influence has not, as far as I know, been brought up in any more recent cases involving a religious group.  Clearly there is a potential for this 19^th century precedent to be applicable if, for example, a Moonie member hands over all the family fortune to a bank account in South Korea.

It does not take a great deal of imagination to see that undue influence could be said to apply to other situations in a religious context.  An unscrupulous cultic leader might demand sexual favours from a new member as part of the cost of belonging to the group.  Other rules of a group which demand an oppressive conformity may undermine the individuality of a member.  This also could be considered undue influence.  Those of us who are concerned for victims and survivors of all kinds have observed many times the way that people are coerced and controlled by others in a religious setting. This single word control is a good description of what we see in operation in many authoritarian religious groups.  The control exercised in such a setting is seldom experienced as a benign act.

I want to suggest that the way our original question can be asked, avoiding the contentious word cult, is this. Have the Iwerne camps used undue influence and authoritarian/coercive control over their members?  Are the members in any way harmed by some aspect of the teaching or the authoritarian culture of the camps?  I do not offer a definitive answer to this question, but Graystone’s evidence points to numerous ways in which the camps seem emotionally and spiritually unhealthy places.  This is quite apart from the beatings that some of the attendees received.

As a way of extending the reader’s appreciation and understanding of the systems of authoritarian control, I want to introduce my reader to the BITE model of control proposed by Steven Hassan.  He is a cult expert living in the States and I have had the pleasure of meeting him at several of the ICSA conferences that I attended.  This is a gathering of experts in authoritarian groups from all over the world.

Hassan suggests that there are four areas of control that authoritarian groups/cults use with their members. Each one corresponds to one of the letters in the word BITE.  Here I can only offer the barest outline of how these control methods work in so-called cults.  Some methods are gentle while others involve a level of open compulsion.  BITE stands for Behaviour, Information, Thought and Emotion. The first, behaviour control, requires the individual who has joined a group to conform to a laid down pattern in the way they live their life.  Certainly, Graystone’s account describes the conforming tendencies among Iwerne alumni, including the amusing anecdote from a member of a college at which some Iwerne men attended for ordination training.  The fellow student noticed that Iwerne men seemed always to dress in identical ways, all using identical Filofaxes.

The second area of control exercised by closed authoritarian groups is the control of information.  The Iwerne movement like many other religious groups does not encourage reading theological books beyond a small carefully vetted range of works.  The version of the Bible used by Nash was always the King James version.  Bible studies were used to present the approved teaching of the group rather than lead on to any kind of personal exploration of the text. To be a Iwerne man, you had to know and be a confident expositor of this official teaching of the movement.  Such teaching, according to Graystone, was bereft of theological nuance or depth. Such control of access to information leads into the third of Hassan’s categories – thought control.  We have often described in this blog the black/white, binary thinking of conservative Christian groups.  Needless to say, such narrowness of thinking will produce an imagination deficit.  Such a control of thinking will also never be able to produce much in the way of newness or creativity in theological understanding.   The maps of reality adopted by Iwerne men as part of their tribal identity, will prevent the emerging of healthy intellectual or spiritual development.  They will also find it extremely hard to learn from or relate to other Christians who come from different traditions.

The final letter in the acronym BITE is E for emotional control. If you are part of a religious movement like Iwerne, you will be encouraged to think and feel in predictable ways. One negative emotion that was prominent in the 31:8 report about the ministry of Jonathan Fletcher was the presence of fear. Alongside fear is the constant activation of guilt in the individual.  This was a common feature of many of the Iwerne evening teaching sessions.  Feeling constantly guilty and afraid seems to be a crucial part of the Iwerne emotional identity. Certainly, we saw the evident results of emotional control at Iwerne, particularly among Smyth’s victims.  Through no fault of their own, they found it near impossible to understand the terrible things being done to them, let alone talk to others about it.  They had been ruthlessly manipulated, not just by Smyth but by the mind and emotion numbing routines of the camps.

The question with which we began needs to be rephrased. Do the Iwerne camps, based on the evidence provided by Graystone, show aspects of authoritarian control and undue influence which Hassan so clearly describes in his BITE model? If the question is phrased like this, then the answer has to be a categoric yes. Our conclusion has to be that to a greater or lesser extent, generations of conservative Iwerne Christians have been exposed to a mind changing experience.  This has, to varying degrees, negatively changed them and inculcated in many of them a harmful, mind-numbing version of the Christian faith. That is a terrible and terrifying conclusion to be extracted from Graystone’s book.

by ‘Angela’

Recently I received this account from a reader of the blog.  It gives us an insight into the way that power can sometimes operate destructively in a parish.  Here, a ministry exercised by an apparently competent woman priest has been undermined and possibly destroyed by the actions of a determined clique of parishioners who were against her.  Many others have been damaged by the fall-out, including the writer herself.  Our narrator does not offer us explanations which uncover the true motivations of those who were attacking the ministry of the Vicar.    No doubt misogyny was playing its part, together with an unconscious patriarchy.   Those who are reared on a diet of male superiority may find the role of women in authority hard to accept. We have, at the same time, to be open to the possibility that there may be a counter-narrative to this account. Some salient facts in the account do, however, suggest that the perspective of the writer is largely an accurate one.  She speaks of two meetings, presumably organised by the diocese, to resolve the hostile activities of the ‘clique’ and find out the grounds for the complaints.  If such meetings took place and there was no agreement of any kind hammered out by the disputing parties, then this diocese appears not to be employing adequately trained mediators.  Mediation skills are essential in any organisation.  When disputes of this kind are not able to be resolved, then the costs, human and financial, are likely to be massive.  An ability to understand and resolve issues of institutional power is one of the central pleadings of this blog.  We all have witnessed the massive ‘cost’ of the Winchester affair, in terms of destroyed morale and sheer financial losses, when mediation failed.  Events which involve escalating dysfunctions of power in the Church seem to be increasingly common. The Church must find ways of stopping mini disasters like the one recounted below, from happening.  Mediation and true reconciliation are not just words, but positive weapons in the struggle to re-establish truth and integrity in the Church.  Without them the Church cannot have a bright future.

Angela’s Account

I have been a member of my parish for many, many years, a small rural church. After the retirement of the former Vicar, a young female priest was appointed to the post. She was very welcoming, warm and pleasant with everyone. This was her first position of sole charge, and she was anxious to do things correctly.  We were aware that good support was our responsibility so that she could more easily settle into her ministry with us.  Her sermons were outstanding, and this new Vicar brought a modern approach to the ministry during the difficult period of lockdown – zoom meetings, live streaming services and covid secure precautions for everyone.

Quite early on in her ministry, a senior male member of our PCC began to ignore emails and requests from the Vicar.   This we could not understand. This hostility and unkindness became public when this PCC member berated the Vicar in front of everyone at the Annual Parish Meeting.  The complaint had something to do with his position in the church.  Many parishioners were naturally upset to witness this outburst.  He was also accusing other church officers of always doing things ‘by the book’ in the way they carried out their church duties.

The new Vicar made many attempts at reconciliation with the PCC member, but these were not effective. Quite soon there followed a churchwarden announcing that he was stepping down from his duties for ‘personal reasons’.  This churchwarden was conspicuously avoiding the services when the Vicar was present, only attending when she was taking services at the main benefice church.

The hostility towards the Vicar by this churchwarden extended to actions aiming to undermine her position.  Then a small group of people started to complain about the Vicar’s sermons.  These had always satisfied the majority of the members of the congregation. Complaints turned into tutting and shaking of heads during the service.  The next stage was a refusal to go up for communion when the Vicar was present.  This was not the case when a visitor took the service.  Such actively negative behaviour was distressing to witness for the other members of the congregation. It could be described as a mobbing situation.  It was as though this group were determined to demonise the Vicar and destroy her confidence.

It was very hard to establish exactly what was going on.  She tried as far as possible to meet each complaint or challenge in a calm way.  She was always apologising for any possible misunderstandings in the church and always trying to make sure everyone was included in all the decisions made by her and the Church Council.  The small clique of parishioners who were undermining and unsettling the Vicar seemed to be threatened by the fact that she had authority in the church.  It was not the fact that this authority was used aggressively or inappropriately.  It was simply the fact that such spiritual authority existed in a church congregation.  

The hostility towards the Vicar was then extended to anyone who showed appreciation or support for her.  The bullying, undermining and isolating was turned on to them.  After a few months the situation became so bad that the Vicar’s health started to suffer.   She decided that her ministry had become untenable and made arrangements to move away to another church. 

Many parishioners were extremely upset at losing this young enthusiastic joyous and kind Vicar.

Our diocese did intervene on two occasions by holding meetings to air the issues and seek some kind of resolution to the problems.  Both were unsuccessful in stopping the bullying and preventing the continuing negative narratives aimed at the Vicar.  Those PCC members who supported the Vicar began to leave the church.  They could not tolerate witnessing the abusive behaviour being exhibited towards the Vicar. Overall church attendance also dropped off at this time.  People were aware there was ill feeling within the PCC and elsewhere.

I did manage to discuss the whole situation with our parish safeguarding officer. She did take it up and report to her link person in the Diocese, the DSO. He acted immediately on receiving the report and passed it on up the Diocese. Unfortunately no one in the diocesan safeguarding team saw fit to take the report seriously, so no action resulted on the part of the authorities to help the situation.

The PCC members who had supported the Vicar’s ministry asked for a meeting with a representative from the diocese.  This individual told us that he was sorry about the Vicar leaving in response to the bullying.  He claimed that there was nothing that could be done about it, but it was suggested by them that relationships needed to be addressed prior to a new Vicar being appointed.

Our young Vicar left our church with a bad atmosphere caused by the clique.  

I have witnessed the following: Bullying, mobbing, obfuscation of the truth, intimidation, abuse of power and control, sexism and duplicitous actions.

 l am saddened, disappointed and angry at how slowly the Church of England approached and dealt with this situation.  Thus, very quickly it escalated into a very damaging situation for our church.

I have since left the church due to the impact on my mental health.

I lost my Vicar, my church and my health.

Those who were responsible for the unacceptable behaviour stayed in the church and they seemed to act with complete impunity. 

It is an experience l do not ever want to repeat.

The book, Bleeding for Jesus, John Smyth and the cult of Iwerne camps (BFJ), which I received on Friday, has nothing resembling a good or tidy conclusion. There are indeed some good people scattered here and there in the narrative and these help to mitigate what is an appalling tale of cruelty, moral failure and indifference which fill the pages. The book by Andrew Graystone is one that shocks and depresses one at the same time. The only hero in the story is perhaps the author himself.  Some in the story deserve our respect as innocent victims but only a small few deserve any admiration for their actions and Christian behaviour.  Graystone’s narrative, in its clear simplicity, helps us to make sense of what is, much of the time, a total horror story.  BFJ represents an extraordinary piece of research. The detail in it is mind blowing and, as far as one can tell, completely accurate.  If there are errors, as some have already claimed, they do not detract from the main thrust of the book and its meticulous attention to detail.  Graystone has evidently spoken to hundreds of people and mastered thousands of pages of documents. The work he has done is part of a wider but necessary movement to bring light into murky areas of Church safeguarding failures from the past.

The outline of the story of John Smyth and his nefarious behaviour towards a group of young privileged public-school boys in England is already well known. Graystone manages to provide a lot more detail through his patient questioning of witnesses who witnessed the events of 40 years ago and others more recent. The book well conveys the social and theological claustrophobia which have long been a feature of the Iwerne camps. Graystone has great sympathy and understanding for the emotional deprivation felt by many of the campers, educated in privileged schools. Smyth also well understood this vulnerability.  This could lead to a desperate need in some boys, sundered apart from families at an early age, to have an understanding adult in their lives. Smyth offered himself to fit a paternal role for some of them.  Using this position of proxy father, Smyth persuaded over 20 boys in England to undergo savage beatings at his home in Winchester.  Somehow the pain of these beatings was thought to bring the recipient closer to a Father God.  We are given a glimpse of a fundamentalist theology which could be so easily twisted to become toxic and suit Smyth’s nefarious purposes. The Iwerne theology taught to generations of its alumni, is also revealed to be, in fact, remarkably shallow and superficial.

Much of the brand-new information in the book, apart from the extensive filling in of many gaps of Smyth’s association with Iwerne camps in the 70s and early 80s, is the African material. Graystone was enabled to travel to Zimbabwe and South Africa in pursuit of his research about Smyth and he explains the hitherto little-known story of Smyth’s nefarious activities with boys’ camps under the auspices of his missionary society, Zambesi Ministries.  It is in Africa that we find a number of individuals who seem to have stood up to Smyth and tried to resist his influence and power. There was the lawyer David Coltart and a group of ministers in Bulawayo who openly challenged his violence towards the boys in the camps in the name of discipline. This took place in 1995.  Smyth’s connections with funding institutions in Britain and Zimbabwean politicians meant that every time the law seemed finally to be catching up on him, some intervention or legal trick rescued him.  Even though he survived each of these brushes with the legal system, he eventually realised that he would need to move on again.  This he did in the early part of 2001 when he and his family moved to South Africa.

The saddest part of the book is the complete failure of the safeguarding establishment in England to tackle the problem of Smyth when information began to leak out about him in 2013. Nobody wanted to hear the testimony of ‘Graham’, one of Smyth’s victims from Winchester College. He first disclosed his abuse by Smyth in March 2012 to his local Vicar in Cambridge, Alasdair Paine.  It took 22 months before he was enabled to see a trained therapist in January 2014.  Meanwhile the whole country had become sensitised to the issue of historic sexual abuse of the young after the emergence of the Savile scandal in 2012.  It is quite clear from Graystone’s research that there were dozens of people in the Iwerne network, including Paine, who were potentially able to confirm the credibility of Graham’s account.  Some had been sitting on information about Smyth for the previous 30 years. Graystone’s meticulous research reveals many of the names of people in fact who knew that Smyth was still dangerous.  He was a recognisable danger to any young people in Africa who crossed his path.  It was also a form of racism that allowed English leaders to think that, if Smyth was in Africa, at least he was no longer able to be a threat to them or their reputations. They carefully allowed themselves not to think about these potential innocent victims of Smyth’s considerable capacity for cruel and inhuman behaviour. The Church of England and the NST have shown little interest in the African victims, and no known attempt has been made to investigate the African abuse, let alone reach out to them. The casual racism continues.

I do not propose to add anything to the debate about how much our current Archbishop of Canterbury knew about the affair. Like many other people who had heard that something was amiss with Smyth which required him to leave the country, he may have thought that all was well, as long as the problem was not in Britain. One factual piece of information which is not in dispute is that Archbishop Welby personally knows many of the known victims, including Graham, from his own Iwerne days.  He has, until very recently, seemed strangely reluctant to meet them and offer them any kind of reassurance or pastoral support.

The greatest imputation of guilt has to be laid at the door of some of the conservative Christians who were supporters of the Iwerne work.  Some of these leaders, over 100 according to the evidence gathered by Graystone, have deliberately suppressed information about what they knew for a long time. Graystone is open about naming individuals that he believes had knowledge of the scandal and others who funded Smyth’s departure to Africa in 1984.  At the top of the list is David Fletcher.  He ran the camps for many years and was asked to be godfather to Smyth’s son, known as PJ.  He and his brother Jonathan were key figures, not only in the Iwerne network but in the wider con-evo world.  Many of those who had known and worked with Smyth were sufficiently powerful within the conservative networks to have been able to check Smyth’s activities once people had been alerted to his evil practices.  Rather, information was kept within a relatively charmed group of senior Iwerne leaders.  The wounded survivors, known to number 26 by 1982 were allowed to suffer without any support.

It remains to be seen how much impact this book will have on the morale of members of the Church, whether in the hierarchy or in the pew. The potential damage to the ability to trust the Church to manage its own affairs is enormous. Reading Greystone’s account makes one feel it is only ever interested in preserving its institutional reputation. This was certainly a factor in the case of the Winchester College leadership, back in the early 80s when the Smyth scandal first broke.

Andrew Graystone himself becomes part of the overall narrative when he was called in 2014 to help the Titus trustees manage the emerging Smyth scandal. He recommended to them, having read all the paperwork they provided, that they should make a clean breast of all that they knew about Smyth’s activities and commission an enquiry. That was too much for the trustees and they severed contact with Graystone soon after. This book in many ways is a delayed attempt to make the full disclosure that Titus should have made back in 2015. Because it comes from a source other than Titus itself, the reputation of the Trust is bound to be seriously damaged.  Neither the Trust nor the Church of England as a whole seems able to reach up to a necessary standard of honesty and openness. Will the Church be able to recognise the part of the institution and its own senior members in this sorry tale?  Already the only response is to quibble about details in the narrative.  If there are errors of fact in the text, they are very few and certainly they do not devalue the incredibly detailed reporting which Graystone has provided. One thing that my rapid reaction cannot do, is to say where this story will go. Once again in the history of safeguarding, we are being told a message we have heard many times before.  The Church cannot move forward unless it embraces a narrative of honesty, clarity and integrity. Without these things, the institution is once again seen to be failing to provide a moral example under God. It is failing both its own members and the whole nation.