Anyone who has read any of the church documents about safeguarding, will know the expression ‘vulnerable adult’. This term has been defined on various occasions.  There is a long list of statements which interpret this expression.  In summary it applies to any adult who is open to exploitation by another individual because of some impediment in their social, emotional or physical functioning.  The term has been rightly critiqued, not because such vulnerability does not exist, but because some of what is meant by the word could be said to apply to every human being on the planet.   Everybody is vulnerable at some point in their lives and it is also a mistake to believe, as the expression implies, that vulnerability is a good word to describe a permanent handicap of some kind.   Many of us move in and out of situations of vulnerability.  It is for this reason, no doubt, that the secular use of this expression has given way to a more accurate expression, ‘adults at risk’.  The Care Act of 2014 successfully describes the need to protect at risk adults in society without ever using the word vulnerable.  Indeed, it is pity that the Church has not yet caught up with this wording in the Care Act by also abandoning the expression altogether.  The word fails in several important respects and it is these failures that I want to explore in this post.    

In the first place the word vulnerable means literally capable of being wounded. Whatever other definitions we then choose to add on to the word, vulnerability is a category potentially applying to every human being.  Everyone is vulnerable in the same way, just as everyone must eventually face up to his/her own death.  We all experience aggressive, coercive or bullying behaviour by others from time to time. We could also add numerous other experiences which we would describe as involving other people attempting to take advantage of us. While we may not be vulnerable in the ‘at risk’ sense, we are certainly vulnerable in our capacity to be hurt and damaged by the malevolence of other people. 

There are good reasons, good Christian reasons, for seeking to rescue this word from the negative connotations that that it has acquired in safeguarding documents and the pre-2014 social work uses of the word.  One of the defining features of our humanity is our capacity to feel.  You cannot stop feeling things, good and bad, unless you close all the senses and become a kind of robot.  Robots do not feel nor are they exposed to sensations of malevolence directed at them from outside.  Feelings of any kind will involve accepting our vulnerability. Such feelings are not always the highway to fulfilment and contentment. Sometimes this capacity to experience feeling involves negative sensations such as shame, grief, fear or disappointment. All these feelings are unpleasant, but we would never want to deny our capacity to feel them and thus avoid experiencing any kind of emotional pain.  The negative feelings we have are balanced by our ability to feel joy, creativity, satisfaction at a job well done and delight at the presence and company of other human beings. Our ability to experience the negative is for the most part more than balanced up by our ability to feel what is good and glorious about life. 

The experience, that, for most of us, anchors our individual lives, is the experience of love/commitment to another person. But, even within the most successful relationships there are times of misunderstandings and hurt. Nevertheless, few people who have been with a partner or spouse for a long period of time would want to declare that the memories of togetherness and mutual joy are in any way negated by the times of hurt that may have occurred.  Both the joys and the hurts are born out of our human capacity to be vulnerable to another.  In short, we need to celebrate the fact that we are vulnerable beings who are open both to joy and pain. This word vulnerable could also be translated as openness.  Such openness to another is a key facet of our humanity.  Surely, we are right to reclaim the word vulnerable to help us describe this possibility of reaching the fulfilment commended by both Scripture and human tradition – the experience of human partnership in marriage. 

This blog post is then all about reclaiming the word vulnerable and seeing it as something glorious and distinctly human. Vulnerability, in short, is the capacity to share one’s humanity in acts of generosity and love, even while knowing that such openness makes it possible to be open to the possibility of hurt.  When we use the expression vulnerable adult in an association with weakness, incompetence or failure of some kind, it will be unable to serve its more elevated purpose of pointing to our highest potentialities as human beings.  It is important to challenge that old, I would say obsolete, use whenever we can. 

In the New Testament the word vulnerable is never used.  Nevertheless, there is one point when Jesus appears to be talking about something very similar to our notion of vulnerability – in the Beatitudes.  There are a variety of possibilities of meaning for these eight declarations by Jesus and in many ways the measure of uncertainty about exactly what Jesus meant adds to their interest and value.  Here I shall restrict myself to commenting on the first two, both of which seem to have something to say about vulnerability.   In the first beatitude Jesus speaks about the poor in spirit.  Preachers often declare that the explanation they offer is close to the original meaning.  I would rather say that none of us can know definitively what Jesus really meant by this term.   I for one have always found the paraphrase in the New English Bible helpful. ‘Blessed are they who know their need of God’.  This communicates the idea of openness and vulnerability towards God so that we can come to him with right attitude for receiving what he has to give us. To accept that we are needy in a spiritual sense is one step along the road towards finding mercy, peace and forgiveness.   The poor in spirit could well be translated or paraphrased as Blessed are the vulnerable, if we take the NEB translation seriously.    

The second beatitude is also one where Jesus appears to be commending a group who are often thought to be weak or vulnerable, those who are in a state of grief.  The natural meaning of those who ‘mourn’ is to point to those who have lost a loved one.  Christian spirituality, however, knows other forms of grieving, including the mourning over evil and the pain of the world.  Grief could also be a reaction to the existence of sin, our own or that of others.   However we chose to interpret these first two beatitudes, we find ourselves exploring a range of spiritual/psychological states which belong to our topic of vulnerability.  The lack of one single interpretation for either of these two beatitudes allows us to range over a consideration of many different ideas.  Also, we find at different moments in our lives a meaning which fits more closely to our situation.  For example, the older we get, and encounter loss of loved ones, we need to hear this beatitude as a word of comfort for that grief.  When we are younger our grieving tears might be more appropriately shed for the appalling suffering revealed in the world’s continuing story of pain and poverty.  Grieving is appropriate as a response to pain of a variety of kinds.  I used to sum up my teaching on this beatitude by saying that Jesus commends in us a capacity for tears.  ‘Heaviness may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning’ as the Psalmist said.   Mourning and joy are commended by Jesus to be the two balancing aspects of Christian experience.  Vulnerability and joy are also to be balanced in the normal Christian life.  In short, while no one wants to be in the place of vulnerability and mourning all the time, they do belong to the Christian life and indeed are part of the journey of joy and grief that is set before us in our journey of Christian discipleship from birth to the grave 

Today, two documents have appeared in connection with the formal complaint made about the Archbishop of Canterbury by the complainant known as Graham. One is a press release from Lambeth Palace giving notice of the dismissal of the complaint https://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/news/update-safeguarding-complaint-against-archbishop-canterbury and the other is a press release from the complainant. https://www.thinkinganglicans.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/pressrelease.pdf The background to this complaint was described in my last blog post connected with John Smyth. I mentioned the way that the Archbishop of Canterbury had become aware of serious accusations made against the former chairman of the Titus Trustees in 2013. This was a year after one of his victims, Graham, had made a disclosure to a senior clergyman in Cambridge involved with the Titus Trust. We have already made reference to the fact that Archbishop Welby knew John Smyth personally.  He has admitted visiting his house on one occasion. It has never been claimed that they were close friends, but Welby’s own conversion and background within the Christian faith owed much to the evangelical Christian networks in Cambridge in the 1970s.  Here Smyth also had many links. The network that is now known as ReNew was very strong in Cambridge. Mark Ruston and Jonathan Fletcher both exercised an influential ministry among undergraduates in that city through the Round Church. Many of the officers who worked at the Iwerne camps were undergraduates in Cambridge at that time, including the young Justin Welby and Nicky Gumbel. Networking is something that the REFORM/ReNew network have always done very successfully. The conservative evangelical world which originally nurtured Welby always strongly sustained a sense of camaraderie.  Archbishop Welby, although later broadening out in his churchmanship sympathies, did not appear to lose these connections and friendships with those in the world of conservative Anglicanism.

The 2013 complaint about John Smyth should have been a alarm call for Archbishop Welby. As I indicated in a previous blog on this topic, he certainly knew many people in Smyth’s network to ring up and ask what the story  was all about. I mentioned before an extraordinary lack of curiosity on Welby’s part. Do we perhaps detect an attitude of fear and the desire not to know what was being revealed?  Anyone who lived, as Welby did, on the periphery of the world of Jonathan Fletcher and John Smyth must have had some inkling that they were personalities which were at the very least controversial and possibly dangerous. While we can take Welby’s claim that he did not know John Smyth well, we would have expected that, as a newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, he would have wanted to investigate how far the scandal might go.  One of the principles of safeguarding, and well established as good practice by 2013, is to establish whether an individual poses any kind of risk. Although Smyth was a long way away in South Africa, he was still a potential risk in safeguarding terms. What did Welby do? He asked the Bishop of Ely to look into the matter.  A letter was written in 2013 by the Bishop of Ely to the Bishop of Table Bay outlining the risks posed by Smyth.    No reply was ever received. No follow-up was made, either by Welby or the Bishop of Ely. Neither was there another letter written, as far as we know. On a television programme in 2019, Welby claimed to have sent another letter at the same time to the Archbishop of Cape Town. In spite of enquiries, no copy of this later letter has ever been produced to confirm this claim. Smyth was active in legal circles in South Africa to within months of his death in 2018, and there was no attempt by him to hide from either the Church or the civil authorities in South Africa.

The complainant, Graham, has two major issues with the core group who examined his complaint against Archbishop Welby. In the first place he, as the complainant, was never formally interviewed to establish the facts from his perspective.  Both as a survivor and a safeguarding complainant he felt that he should have been properly heard.  It was as though the core group had no interest in establishing facts. In the second place it was stated today in the Lambeth statement that the complaint was simply about safeguarding practice.  From Graham’s perspective, the complaint was much wider than this. Archbishop Welby was in a position to stop John Smyth from having access to young people at any point between first hearing the about his misbehaviour in 2013 right down to the moment when the whole story came fully into the public domain in February 2017. Graham was also critical of the way that the chief of staff at Lambeth Palace, David Porter, approached him directly in an apparent attempt to interfere with the complaint process. This approach appeared to have the authority of the chairman of the Welby Core Group., Zena Marshall.  She is also the Deputy Director of the National Safeguarding Team. Graham has made this effort to subvert the process the topic of a further complaint.

As an outsider, I write my commentary based on the written documents before me.  I do not have the face to face interviews with the parties concerned.   With the evidence before me, I confess feeling considerable unease about what I see. Even when stripping out all the details of who knew what and when they knew it, something deeply dysfunctional is being revealed in these two documents. In 2013 (or possibly a year earlier) a huge destructive scandal came to the attention of the most senior leaders of the Church of England. This was not just about a vicar at the other end of the country committing some criminal offence. This was a complaint about an individual who was (or had been) influential and widely known to considerable numbers of clergy in the Church of England. Worse than Smyth’s original offences, which have never been contested, was the fact that these crimes were covered up for 30 years. A young man in Zimbabwe died at one of Smyth’s camps and there were some attempted suicides as well as many ruined lives.  It is hard to understand how a person with enormous influence in the Church, as Welby had, did not see this as a matter of extreme priority and deal with it decisively. For a core group later to say that there had been no safeguarding concerns about his actions in 2013 and later seems rather feeble. This weak lack of response suggests that there may have been, as with recent scandals in the Catholic Church, a desire to bury wrongdoing in the hope that it would just go away. I, for one, am deeply disappointed in the way that these documents reveal a lack of transparency, candour and honesty in facing up to the appalling abuse legacies of the past. There are, I believe, at least 22 victims of John Smyth who will all be re-abused by reading these documents and the institutional failures they will see in them.   Graham’s complaint against the processes set up by the NST has not been to all appearances properly answered. For all of these survivors this day, 12 November 2020, will be a day which they will remember forever as a moment when the Church of England has failed them once again.  It did this by not providing anything in the way of justice or a proper path to healing.

Long-term readers of this blog will not be surprised to learn that I have, with many others, had some anxious moments fretting over the recent American election. When I woke up last Wednesday morning, it seemed that the fears of a re-election of President Trump might come to pass. Even after Joe Biden’s convincing win and his four million majority in the popular vote, there are still anomalies to be faced.  One glaring fact puts a dampener on the temptation to celebrate too extravagantly.  President Trump was the recipient of 70 million votes from his fellow countrymen.  This statistic is remarkable, and it requires an explanation, or at least some degree of inquiry.  For four years Trump has been exhibiting a combination of petulance, prejudice, gross lack of empathy, dishonesty and lying, coupled with rank incompetence in many of the tasks of government.  In spite of all this, huge numbers of people wanted him to continue to be the president of their country. The other great conundrum, which is closer to home, is the fact that hordes of self-proclaimed Christian people also decided that he was able to represent them and be their leader.   What can we say is going on when a man, totally absorbed with himself alone, appeals to so many people?

One of my friends in the cult world, Steven Hassan, has written a fascinating book with the title The Cult of Trump and this appeared at the end of 2019.   He is able to account for Trump’s appeal to large numbers of people at a very visceral level.  For example, Trump has been an arch-manipulator through the use of fear and hate speech.  He tells people that hordes of Mexicans are waiting at the border, wanting to rob honest Americans of their property, endanger their wives and take their jobs.   Such rhetoric can by-pass the normal critical thinking parts of the brain.   When such language is constantly reinforced by broadcasters, such as Fox News, you have the recipe for keeping many people on tenterhooks.  Fear-based thinking makes the individual open to consume the most extraordinary conspiracy theories and irrational thinking. Once a large swathe of the population begins to think in this way, they begin to become dependent on the source of this way of thinking.  Trump is the provider of this information, but also he offers himself as a potential rescuer from all these terrible threats.  This is a dynamic that also works well in a cultic context.   Somehow Trump has managed to infect a large section of the American population with this fearful mentality.

The most interesting part of Hassan’s book are his accounts of several of the ultra-right/Christian groups that have helped to fire up Trump’s obsessions and distortions.    The first of these organisations, we have time to look at, is called The Family. The history of this organisation goes back to 1935. A Norwegian, Abraham Vereide, had a vision when God spoke to him. ‘Christianity’, he was told, ‘has got it wrong for 2000 years in its focussing on the poor and the weak’.’ But’, the vision went on, ’it is only the big man who is capable of mending the world. But who would help the big man?’  In summary the Family was a kind of Christian fascism.  By 1953 Vereide had organised the first National Prayer Breakfast, a meeting that attracted many of the wealthy and powerful Washington elite. The Family had a vision that was strongly militaristic and fiercely anti-Communist. It envisaged a ruling class of Christ-committed men (shades of Iwerne camps?!).  These would be bound in a fellowship of anointed key men.  In short, Vereide and the Family were looking for a kind of theocratic dictatorship. So the Family’s strategy is to recruit people with money, power and special skills and invite them to these National Prayer Breakfasts. The ideology of the Breakfasts is not exclusively Christian or even Republican, but it remains firmly right-wing and authoritarian.  Christ’s message, as far as this group are concerned, was never really about love, mercy, justice or forgiveness. It was about power.  Evidently the Family approved of Trump, even though the exact relationship with him is unclear.  While Trump’s earlier relationship with the Family is not open for scrutiny, his vice-president Mike Pence has for some time been a key member.  With Pence at the right hand of the President, the Family came very close to fulfilling their dream of a group of religiously inclined supermen at the heart of government. Nine individuals with strong evangelical credentials were appointed to Trump’s cabinet. When Jeff Sessions, linked to the Family, left the Cabinet and was replaced by William Barr, there were, through him, links with another secretive Christian organisation, Opus Dei.

Another religious network which has been discussed here in a blog post a couple of years ago is the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR).  This network peddles ideas within the evangelical/Pentecostal world similar to The Family. The recently disgraced leader of Hillsong New York, Carl Lentz, is deeply involved in this organisation.  The key task of NAR is that of influencing and if possible, taking over every aspect of American culture (politics, business, education etc) with a well worked out Christian theocratic agenda. Trump has proved to be a useful tool in furthering some of these aims.  One significant inroad into American institutions has been made by the appointment of 200 conservative federal judges in different part of the country. From NAR’s perspective, there is an ongoing struggle to restore God’s rule in a society which has become increasingly secular and anti-Christian. It remains to be seen how deep the damage to American society has been through the making of these judicial appointments as well as other concessions to the Christian Right.

A further group, not especially religious in its inspiration, is found in the so-called libertarian movement. This network is inspired by the writings of the novelist and philosopher Ayn Rand. This writer, in a book called Atlas Shrugged, promoted a rugged individualistic ideology. Government, taxes and support of the poor are all unnecessary. Naturally Rand’s philosophy has special appeal for the tiny section of the population who are extremely rich.  Massive tax cuts for the rich seem to have come about, in part, through this influence of Rand on many Republican politicians.   From the perspective of this wealthy privileged group, democracy and socialism are both negative words.   They indicate a threat to wealthy privilege because the majority in society are being encouraged to gang up on the rich to carry out legalised theft. A great deal of energy has been expended by the Trump administration in trying to remove the medical insurance scheme of his predecessor, known as Obamacare.  We in the UK find it hard to understand the way the argument is made against ‘socialist medicine’.  Having a government in any way concerned with the needs of poor people, seems to be low on the agenda of many wealthy Trump supporters.  They have been quietly seduced by the assumptions of these extraordinary right-wing/Christian elitist ideologies.

Donald Trump seems to be a phenomenon which has been created by a combination of extreme right-wing ideas, a corruption of Christian ideology and other ideas that serve the interests of the very rich. Paradoxically and unexpectedly, this phenomenon of Trumpism has also been made into a commodity to appeal to many of the poorest elements in American society. There is a striking parallel between the messages of prosperity preachers, aimed at the poor, and the appeal of Trump to the same group.   Look at my wealth, my success and all the possessions that I enjoy.  You too can enjoy all of it by proxy through identification with me.  Trump’s self-presentation as a constant ‘winner’ is believed somehow to rub off on to all his followers.  The reality is, of course, is that things don’t work like that.   It is the same for followers of prosperity preachers. Both sets of promises are completely empty.  As we now know, the successful businessman trope is also a complete myth as far as Trump is concerned.  We suspect that it will all come tumbling down very quickly when the banks and other lenders realise that the Trump brand has been thoroughly trashed by all the reports of criminal behaviour. But, up to now, it has been possible for many to believe in and project on to this extraordinary larger-than-life figure.  Like a worshipped and feared father figure, Trump has drawn the adoration of millions.  We may not feel any of that attraction ourselves, but we need to feel some of its power as a way of understanding what is going on in this fascinating drama of American political life.  For us, as people concerned with the intersection between religious ideology and the rest of life, it is particularly interesting..  Too many of the same political and religious currents swirl around our own country for us ever to be complacent about what could happen to our own society.  

By David Brown

David Brown invites us to consider the dysfunctionality of a culture of conformity and cold authority that we frequently find in our churches.  He likens this to ‘Pharisee’ leaven which can infect the institution with a cold lovelessness.   By contrast, the leaven that Jesus offers to the Church is one that eschews power, control and attachment to status.  It is a Kingdom leaven, an inner transforming loving power which the Church desperately needs. Ed

I started work in 1992 for Keith Sutton, the godly Bishop of Lichfield, as his Lay Assistant, after 34 years in the Navy.  Feeling drained on retiring again in 2004, I wanted no further involvement with Anglican bureaucracy with its unjust treatment of some clergy, and unchallenged elements of dysfunctionality. These continued to trouble me; then new thinking shifted my understanding. 

Case 1.  I was invited back to investigate three separate parish crises, as Bishop’s Commissary.  I did so by taking eye-witness evidence of specific events.  In each case the Bishop’s Chaplain told me the Staff felt the Vicar was the problem, yet in each parish troubles stemmed from a skilled provocative bully—a long-standing treasurer, a long-standing warden, and a rebellious curate.  In the first two cases I visited the clergy couple first to hear their stories—they wept, for no-one from the diocese had ever listened to their stories.  In the first case, the Rural Dean and Assistant Rural Dean clearly despised the priest for his churchmanship—he being very high church

Case 2.  Other things had astonished me in my time in post.  One senior incumbent—revered I think by the Bishop’s Staff—was in the spotlight.  His archdeacon told my bishop of two reports he had received of fraudulent use of funds.  The Accounts Department had discovered false mileage claims for a four-parish benefice for ten years when he only had charge of three, perhaps amounting to £20,000.  The archdeacon also received a parishioner’s complaint that the vicar had hiked up the fees, irregularly, for her marriage-blessing service.  The archdeacon started negotiating.  If the incumbent, six-months’ short of retirement, handed in a signed retirement form with a £20,000 cheque for the DBF, he would call it a day.  This was beyond the archdeacon’s remit.  I suggested to my bishop this had to go to the police:  it was a crime against members of the public, and the diocese had no capability in criminal investigation.  So, it happened.  The police forensic accountants got to work and reported evidence of fraud to the level of £160,000.  The incumbent went to court, receiving a nine-month custodial sentence. Yet, this was not the end of the revelation.  I worked closely with the Diocesan Secretary.  Across the next three of so years, four different clergy who had been that priest’s curate, learned of the case through the media, and unbeknown to each other came to report their four stories—two to the Diocesan Secretary and two to me.  Each had, in their curacies, reported courageously to their area bishop or archdeacon—across several years—their incumbent ‘trousering’ money from the offering plate, I think habitually.  No action was taken against the incumbent.

Only the fourth curate heard anything further.  Years later, he asked to see me after I had retired, seeking any guidance I could give—he had been offered the Bishop’s Chaplain post in another diocese.  Ordained at about 40, he had been finance-director of a substantial company, exporting world-wide.  He told me his story.  After reporting the ‘trousering’ incidents, the archdeacon called him back.  “Robert”, he said, “you need to learn you’re no longer finance director of XXX, but a curate in the C of E.  To help you grasp the difference, I’m moving you to another parish.”  It was over 17 miles away.  His wife had to find a new job and their three children enter new schools.

Case 3.  The priest was from an overseas diocese with an extremist government. His bishop got wind that he was on the state-police hit list and needed to get out of the country. With alacrity, Lambeth and our Government departments got him and his family out.  Our diocese gave him a stipendiary post and accommodation.  He struggled with the culture change and seems not to have done too well.  Several years went by, during which time his wife got into uncontrollable debt that the diocese helped resolve.  Sadly, the marriage broke up acrimoniously, so he lost wife and children.  There was no sign that anyone was assigned to stand by him.  He was scorned by his area bishop and archdeacon, two in each case—his reputation going before him.  Eventually one of his two parishes was irregularly taken from him. Next, he was attacked with a machete.  Whilst in hospital, he was coerced into resigning.  After a while he was forced to leave his vicarage—his health in a parlous condition.  All his worldly possessions, documents and family photographs, remained in the garage and, after being given a month to remove them (which he could not do, having no place to put them) they were placed in a skip.  Once ousted, he spent some time sofa-surfing, but this came to an end.  His health failing, he was on the brink of living on the streets when the diocesan bishop heard some details of the case.  The priest, with a parishioner friend, was invited to Bishop’s House to tell his story—twice, for about three hours.  It all poured out.  +Keith Sutton was moved deeply, saying ‘I’m sorry’ repeatedly through each meeting.  He was given a parish appointment in a different episcopal area, his two-year pension gap filled, and his life stabilised over two or three years until he moved to another diocese.

My growing perspective.  I could tell many stories.  They are not about blame.  I have my own share of getting things wrong, and if immersed for years in the same culture as the figures mentioned, I doubt I would have acted much differently.  Yet, my past 15 years have been dominated by wondering how such practices—a pervasive dysfunctionality—can exist, unchallenged, in God’s Church. The Foundation for Church Leadership published my booklet “Releasing Bishops for Relationship” in 2008. I suggested how a bishop’s desk duties and unending meeting commitments might be lessened.  Although well-received by some, I doubt anything much changed.  Yet thoughts still came. 

I started to see that ‘culture’ rather than ‘system’, offered the right understanding—the line Jesus took.  He never suggested better ways of leading or organising his Jewish faith community.  Though sometimes training his disciples forcefully, the gospels astonishingly never tell of him blaming any individual, not even during his bogus trial.  I saw how this defined his ministry.  We read how, ‘‘when the crowd gathered by the thousands, so they trampled on one another, Jesus began to speak first to his disciples, “Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy”. He used the ‘leaven word’ to contrast the two cultures ‘on the counter’.  By purveying Kingdom leaven, he equipped his disciples to do the same. It was his core message for all within earshot.  In parallel, he excoriated the Leaven of Herod, the scribes and Pharisees—in straight teaching, parable, and confronting its advocates corporately. The gospels are full of it. For me, ‘Leaven’ translates directly as ‘Culture’:  that is, how our associations and communities silently press us to conform.  It is a whole-community lifestyle thing. Jesus’s ministry may be described in leaven-terms:  he proclaimed and evinced the one, and declaimed against the other.  One carried God’s love, and the other a chilling lovelessness.  Lovelessness is the true opposite of love; hatred being only one part.  When Kingdom leaven shapes a community of believers, God’s power is released.

Inherited cultures work unnoticed.  We tend to see our own world through a non-cultural lens, noticing words and deeds yet not the power of over-arching culture.  Meanwhile we unconsciously put our ill-examined, inherited Church culture on constant display to the world outside.  This is surprising for followers of Christ.  First-century Judaism believed in God, yet scarcely his power—described sometimes as ‘religious atheism’.  Corporately, they swerved away, with power and status appetites, ignoring the needy.  The pattern seemingly lingers still.

Rank has just one purpose:  to define the responsibility level appropriate to a person’s giftedness.  It is not a mark of superiority.

In LEAVEN, I name four strands of worldly culture that have soiled God’s people across the centuries:

• use of controlling power,
• enchantment with historic customs,
• individualism, and
• dogmatism. 

Kingdom culture offers a better way.  Perhaps, even our Church’s well-intentioned Renewal and Reform project risks leaving the governing spiritual /cultural issues unaddressed.  Meanwhile, the lovelessness pandemic presses for a world where love―invariably of God―fades to illegibility, its presence removed, and memory wiped.

Recently, on the 26^th October, a 94 page document was published by the safeguarding charity, Thirtyone:eight, on the group of churches known as The Crowded House (TCH).  It is a document well worth studying because, among other things, it allows those of us who have never been part of a house-church environment to understand better how churches within this model operate.  I have chosen to focus on two aspects of this report which, between them, take us to the heart of the issues encountered by many independent churches led by single individuals.  One is  the leadership style.  The other is the question of whether the congregational members receive appropriate pastoral care for their individual needs.

TCH was originally a mission plant with indirect links to an Anglican parish, Christ Church Fulwood in Sheffield.  It was set up at the end of the 90s largely through the initiative of its founder/leader Steve Timmis.  He and another leader wrote a book exploring his vision for the congregation, called Total Church.  This appeared in 2007. I have not seen the book, although I understand that it explores the ideas of radical commitment both to God and to the church community. The small cluster of congregations that came under the umbrella of TCH in the Yorkshire/Sheffield area remained independent but developed an association with Acts 29, an American church network which strongly emphasises mission and evangelism.  Steven Timmis was later employed by the Acts 29 network to be an international director of the group.

The request, by Trustees for an independent learning review from Thirtyone:eight in February 2020, followed a critical article in the magazine Christianity Today appearing in that same month.   The article recorded the unhappiness of 15 members with the leadership style of Stephen Timmis.  They claimed that there was a pattern of spiritual abuse, bullying and intimidation.  It is impossible to attempt to summarise what the review revealed in this area, so I am taking a more global look as to why church members may sometimes find leadership oppressive.  There seems to be a tendency in churches which are initially attractive to young people and which provide exciting new experiences of church life, to go down such a path.  The main clientele of TCH when it was first set up was certainly fairly young.

It goes without saying that churches attractive to large groups of the young will feel quite different from established traditional congregations.  The main distinctiveness about such congregations is that there is great deal of youthful idealism and energy, with a readiness to be committed to a variety of programs involving, perhaps, evangelism or working in deprived areas.   Many young people will pass through large student congregations and enjoy the buzz of lively worship and preaching for the time they are students.  Because of the large numbers involved in these congregations, many will be happy to be attenders and observers rather than becoming deeply caught up in the inner life of the congregation.  Even those deeply involved have to move on for work and family reasons. They can look back and see the church of their university years as a stage in their pilgrimage.  It was never meant to be a place of permanent Christian residence.  Whatever new church they end up in, it is unlikely to demand the same things that were expected from them when they were young, free and full of energy.

TCH seems to have operated with a different model from the typical university student congregation. Although it appealed to the idealism and energy of young people when it was founded, it was also trying to create a pattern of church life for the long term. What seems to have been happening is that Timmis was expecting as much from older (30+) more mature congregants as he was from the youngest cohort.  When these older members resisted, they were told that they had ‘lost the vision’ or were no longer committed to God in the way that he, the leader, believed to be required of them.  The other issue was that some older members were expecting to grow into positions of responsibility and decision making.  Timmis had other ideas.  He wanted to preserve the same pattern of dependency that he had established when the church was first founded.  Whatever his gifts of preaching, evangelism and teaching, Timmis apparently lacked the gifts of empathy and discernment.  These would have enabled him to see that he needed to adapt to the congregation pastorally and in other ways.  His congregation was changing in terms of what they needed, and he was failing to respond to this fact.

In an interesting interview on The Pastor’s Heart, an Australian website, an Australian church leader, Stephen McAlpine, who had spent time with TCH in 2007, spoke of the tension that can occur when a highly committed group of young followers starts to grow up. Members initially come to a church excited by its offer of a vision and wanting to make their contribution to that vision.  But once they arrive, their own needs gradually come to the fore.  In short, they need to receive something back in terms of pastoral care as well as to give of themselves to the church’s vision..   The move from being idealising, energetic young believers to people facing ordinary life challenges is something that churches are not always ready for.   It is up to the leadership in any church to cope with these inevitable changes in the needs of its members.

In offering my personal take on this report, I am suggesting above all that the leader of TCH, Steve Timmis, was failing lamentably to respond appropriately to the needs of some individuals in his congregation.  This was becoming particularly apparent as these adherents of his church were growing and changing over time.  At the beginning of the journey, Timmis, as their leader, had understood well how to draw in a group of impressionable young people to share his gospel vision.  His sermons were universally appreciated.  He also found it easier to manage people when they were still in this state of dependency as they had been in the beginning.  Many of the problems uncovered by Thirtyone:eight were problems of a Timmis’ failure of flexibility to deal with individuals who were 15 -20 years older than when they had joined. He was a leader who needed to be in control, and this had the result that a part of the congregation was living in a state of suppressed frustration. Eventually this dissatisfaction exploded into a revolt and the article in the magazine Christianity Today.  A few days later Stephen Timms resigned, and the congregation asked to have a review commissioned by the safeguarding charity.  Their report is this document that we have today.

Most of the reports published about dysfunctional congregations and abuse situations in the Church of England over the past few years have involved sexual misconduct. Refreshingly there is no hint of this in the conduct of the leadership at TCH. We meet instead spiritual abuse alongside harmful examples of control, coercion and simple love of power.  The report deals helpfully and usefully with these concepts, ensuring that reader is up with the latest scholarly opinion on these topics. The Thirtyone:eight report is thus a model of informed commentary on all this material.  It can be read as a mini-textbook of applied theology and psychology which is completely up to date. 

The one thing that is missing from the TCH account is any speculation as to why Timmis should choose, consciously or not, to abuse his power.  As readers of this blog will know I have often discussed the potential issue of narcissism in religious leadership.  There are plenty of clues to suggest that Timmis, in his inability to delegate or share responsibility for the leadership of the church, was afflicted by narcissistic tendencies. In short, his identity had become so bound up with his position of controlling leader, that he could not let go of any of it without this threatening his sense of self-esteem.

Among those who suffered as the result of this narcissistic ministry were those who simply walked away.  Timmis discouraged any attempt to reach out to these leavers and they were normally ostracised as being people who had lost the vision or chosen the world in preference to radical discipleship.  According to my interpretation, these were people who had grown up and now needed something that they were not being offered, a way of living a life of discipleship compatible with family responsibilities and the demands of a career.  The remaining congregation got used to the simplistic explanations to explain these departures.  These rationales were both untrue and deeply unjust. It was also deeply damaging to declare, as TCH did, that any thought or action not coinciding with the will of the leader was sinful. Binary thinking like this always needs to be challenged. In TCH, as the report indicates, there was little in terms of challenging the leader.  A need for subservience was what was required.

The failure of TCH was a failure to allow balance and compassion to reign in the congregations.  Instead of allowing the Christian faith to enhance and enrich life, Timmis demanded from his followers a harsh and inflexible adherence to a vision that could never change.  I become very concerned when any Christian teacher suggests that Christianity is an inflexible body of truth.  Two words that are at the heart of the Christian message, compassion and forgiveness, reveal constant new insights as we ponder them and make them our own.  If these two words mean anything, they imply that God is reaching out to us where we are at that moment.  He never lays upon us impossible burdens that we cannot carry, but travels with us along life’s journey.

For the full text of the Report please click on the link

https://static1.squarespace.com/static/597b10f9ff7c509fce4c4729/t/5f9a7a535f044f0fdc82d3c8/1603959383931/Final+Report+-+The+Crowded+House+Learning+Review+-+October+2020.pdf

One of the permanent psychological legacies that many survivors of abuse have to carry is the possibility of being ‘triggered’ at any moment.  This is a kind of mental explosion which takes place when a past abusive event is reactivated by something seen or heard.  The mental shock involved in such a triggering can, in some cases, produce tears, shaking or other physical signs of distress and despair.  Most therapists who seek to help survivors are familiar with these symptoms. It does not make them easy to deal with.  They are never trivial or routine.  Triggering is a source of real pain and anguish for sufferers and it is possibly life-long for those who are afflicted by it

Recently on Youtube, a section of film, potentially triggering for survivors, appeared, which featured John Smyth, the notorious abuser.  He was speaking from South Africa about a notorious legal case there, the trial of the Paralympic athlete, Oscar Pistorius.  I watched it with a grim fascination so that I could get some feel for the man, his body language and the tone of his voice.   Hitherto I had only seen the muttered comments he had made in the fleeting Channel 4 interview with Cathy Newman in February 2017.  The date of this other interview, 2014, was at a time when Smyth was apparently able to make frequent trips to the UK from South Africa.  His evident confident carefree pose also could have contributed to a potential triggering effect for any of his victims.  The significance of the date when it was made will become apparent as we go further into reviewing some other episodes in the more recent story of Smyth.

The outline of Smyth’s story is well known to readers of this blog.  His crimes of religiously inspired acts of violence against a group of boys and young men go back to the late 70s and early 80s.  These were linked to his position as Chair of the Iwerne Trust, a charity now called Titus Trust.  The Trust changed its name in an apparent attempt to distance itself from any involvement with Smyth and his crimes.  Both charities were/are under the influence, if not the control, of the REFORM/Church Society network and their leaders.  They were set up to inculcate a cadre of privileged public-school boys with the culture and beliefs of the strand of conservative evangelicalism favoured by the network.  In general terms, what is now called the ReNew constituency upholds a style of evangelicalism which stands apart from the more widespread variant favoured in charismatic circles.  It has favoured a patriarchal style of leadership which avoids granting women positions of real responsibility.  Although the ReNew strand of teaching and practice in the Church of England is not widespread, it does have considerable influence and access to wealth and power. When the crimes of Smyth first became known to the leaders of this network in the early 80s, there were powerful individuals on hand with the necessary financial clout to ship Smyth out of the country to Africa and support him financially until his death in 2018.

The recent story of John Smyth begins in 2012.  In that year two things happened.  The first was a newspaper column written by Anne Atkins in the Mail on Sunday, when she described the bare outlines of the Smyth story without giving his name.  Anne referred to this column when she appeared on Cathy Newman’s ground-breaking Channel 4 report in February 2017.  First she admitted that the unnamed Christian leader who was guilty of beating boys was indeed John Smyth.  What was more interesting was the way that Anne recalled the consequences of revealing this information to the Mail on Sunday readers.  To quote her words in the 2017 interview, she told us that ‘the flak I received after the article was horrible actually ……(it came) from people who were senior to me.  Why are you stirring all this up?’  These few words are fairly revelatory.  It implies that Anne was got at by people who knew all about the Smyth story, but they were also senior to her. By implication, these were the leaders in the Titus/REFORM network at that time.  The words she used tell us that the attacks were plural.  Some emanated from leaders; others possibly from rank and file members of the network like herself.  All who attacked her seemed to know the full Smyth story and were upset that the dam of secrecy and concealment was being breached. 

The Mail on Sunday article in 2012 was the first crack in the great Smyth cover-up.  The second event was the beginning of a correspondence between a Smyth survivor and a senior member of the Iwerne/REFORM network.  The survivor, who calls himself Graham has kindly shared with me the chronology of his own personal attempt to bring the events in a Winchester garden shed to the attention of the Trustees of the Iwerne camps and also the wider church.  The correspondence that Graham initiated in March 2012 was seeking, in the first place, access to psychiatric help   It. continued over 2012 and the first half of 2013.  In July 2013 Graham is finally passed on to the safeguarding team of the Ely diocese.  In Graham’s words, he hoped some well-oiled process would swing into action and the end result would be an offer to find and  pay for psychiatric or counselling support. 

The details of the correspondence by Graham with Ely reveal his heightening of frustration and anger.  One issue that caused Graham considerable grief was finding that his name had been shared by the Ely DSA with the Titus Trustees, ignoring his desire not to be named.  Much of the correspondence is about finding suitable therapy and support.  The money that was found came from private sources via the Titus Trustees, but it ran out in April 2015, having lasted for barely a year.

The other preoccupation of Graham was his attempt to alert the Church authorities to the continuing threat of Smyth himself, even though he was no longer living in Britain.  The Bishop of Ely wrote to the Archbishop of Cape Town to tell him, in some detail, the issues around Smyth.  The letter I have seen made it easy to find him by enclosing his current South African address. The idea that Smyth was uncontactable was patently absurd since he was an active figure in South African legal circles, working for the Justice Alliance of South Africa.   The Bishop of Ely received no replies and in May 2015 the DSA wrote to Graham to say that he ‘had no power to compel agencies in South Africa to respond to my concerns.’  This somewhat feeble response was the best that Ely could come up with in spite of seven letters from Graham between May 2014 and August 2015 to get the Church to take the whole issue seriously. The Titus Trust, although they knew that Smyth was entering Britain regularly on visits, refused to accept that they had any moral or legal obligations over his behaviour.  From that point until the Channel 4 programme in Feb 2017, the story was like a ‘pass the parcel’ game.  Nobody wanted to accept responsibility for enquiring too deeply into the abusive legacy of this man or the danger that he potentially posed for the church in the future.  Smyth, as is well known, died in Africa in mid-2018.

The story ends with no satisfactory conclusion.  But we have to ask what might have been done to help Graham and the other victims and to bring Smyth to some form of justice.  The key person who seems missing in action is of course Justin Welby.  No one claims that Welby knew anything prior to 1982 and what he knew after that was merely that Smyth had been uncovered for unspecified misbehaviour and banished.  But he certainly did know him personally and many in the network of people that Anne Atkins refers to in the Channel 4 interview.  Welby definitely heard about the Smyth affair in the autumn of 2013, possibly a year earlier.  This was around the same time as a group of ‘senior’ church people in the REFORM network were giving Atkins ‘flak’.  If Welby knew nothing before autumn 2013, he certainly knew lots of the people who could have brought him quickly up to speed over the Smyth affair.  All the evidence (anecdotally supported by Atkins) points to the detailed story having been shared among many individuals in the REFORM network.  This had been the crucible and setting for Welby’s own Christian conversion while at Cambridge in the 70s.  Was Welby not even curious to find out the full story, when the name Smyth was first mentioned in 2013 in a safeguarding context?  If Welby had leapt to and written formally to the Archbishop of Capetown in consultation with the Bishop of Ely, that dreadful ‘triggering’ interview might never have been able to take place.  The civil authorities in both South Africa and Britain might have been alerted to do their work much earlier.  What-if scenarios are seldom profitable speculations, but there seems to have been a failure to act with energy and alacrity and allow a safeguarding catastrophe which is still reverberating within the Church.  The Makin report is unlikely to resolve all the issues over the Smyth affair.  Indeed, it will once again reveal ‘shoddy and shambolic’ practice at the heart of the Church of England.

Almost a week has now passed since the publication of the Whitsey Report. This was a very thorough independent examination of the events surrounding the revelation in 2016 that a serving Bishop had, some decades before, committed abuse crimes against children and young adults. As Bishop Whitsey, a former Bishop of Chester, had died in 1987, the focus of the Report was about the process, both nationally and locally, that had followed this disclosure. The Report, entitled A Betrayal of Trust, was chaired by David Pearl, a senior judge. Having read the whole Report, I have to say that it is extremely thorough with a great attention to detail.  In reading it, we learn quite a lot of the inner workings of the Church’s safeguarding profession, both when it works well and when there appears to be a measure of shoddy process.  At a time when the Church of England is reviewing once again its safeguarding structures, the Report is a useful and helpful document to have in setting out the way things should be done in this area.

In this blog post, at the cost of ignoring many of the strands in the Report, I want to focus on one individual who played a key role at the centre of this safeguarding drama. This is the Diocesan Safeguarding Advisor for the Chester diocese. The report does not give her name, but I see little purpose in finding it out when the absence of a name is likely to be a deliberate decision by the Report’s author. We shall, like the Report, refer to her as the DSA or the Chester DSA.  That gives the emphasis to her role and actions rather than to her personality. Overall, the Report is complimentary about her work.  She appears to have been efficient and conscientious but, as the Report shows, she was impeded by a number of factors outside her control.  These compromised her effectiveness and created a great deal of extra stress for her. What I shall be describing in this blog indicates that a detailed job description  for a Diocesan Safeguarding Advisor has yet to be given its final form.  What this particular advisor had to put up with was sometimes unreasonable and almost impossible to carry alone.

The recent part of this story begins in early January 2016 when the Chester DSA was contacted by a local clergyman.  He had received a disclosure from an individual claiming to have been sexually assaulted many years before by a deceased Bishop of Chester. A meeting was quickly arranged for the DSA to meet with the survivor, henceforth known as M2.  Further, as was required, a report was sent to the current Bishop, Peter Forster.  Because the safeguarding allegations concerned a diocesan bishop, emails were also sent to the National Safeguarding Team in London to request advice and support. By the end of January, the DSA had met Jane Dodds, the National Senior Case Work Manager.   Jane promised to convene a core group meeting to take the matter forward. The DSA waited patiently to hear further about the core group. The protocols, then as now, suggest that this should be done within a matter of days. When nothing seemed to be happening, the DSA then contacted Graham Tilby, the National Safeguarding Adviser and Jane’s boss to hurry things along.  In spite of numerous emails sent by the DSA, the core group process seems to have stalled and the Report does not get to the bottom of why this happened.  There is a suggestion that the NST was under enormous pressure of work and without adequate resources.  Meanwhile the DSA was coming under some pressure from the survivor M2.  He wanted to know what was going on and the DSA had to explain that she did not know.  Valuable time was being wasted without any proper explanation forthcoming. It was not until 25 July that the first Whitsey  Core Group meeting was finally held. In the meantime, another survivor had emerged.  The same Core Group that met to discuss the case under the chairmanship of Jane Dodds included the case of the other survivor, known as M1, as well.

One consequence of the long delay was that M2 had formed a strong bond with the DSA.  She, after all, represented the institution from which justice was being sought.  When the Core Group finally met, the members were happy to see this pastoral relationship continue, even though, as we shall see, it created complications for the DSA trying to manage the whole case with its many facets involving police, the safeguarding officials in London and the current Bishop of Chester.  The Whitsey Report did look into the long delay from the disclosure to the first Core Group meeting.  There seems to be no single explanation but plainly there were somewhere administrative failures and, as we noted above, excessive work loads.  There was also an inability by Jane Dodds (who had by then moved on to a new post) to recall any details, and this led to the Report having to admit defeat in its attempt to explain the delay.

The DSA in the early part of 2016 was thus in the unenviable situation of being caught between the needs of a survivor and a bureaucratic body in London that seemed unable to provide support or facilitate further progress in the affair.  The successor to Jane Dodds, Moira Murray, who came on the scene during 2016 also maintained a somewhat uneasy relationship with the DSA, having adopted a more centralised style of working.  To add to these stresses and strains, there was another still equally serious impediment to the DSA’s work in this case. The Bishop of Chester, Peter Forster, who was the DSA’s effective boss, took it upon himself to do his own research about his predecessor.  Without informing the DSA, he stared to ring around to find out what else might exist within the memories of the clergy who had been in the diocese during in Bishop Whitsey’s time. This ringing round produced at least one new survivor.  The Bishop then took it upon himself to interview the survivor without telling the DSA. This made for a difficult situation. According to the rules current at the time, the first task of anybody who hears a disclosure, or even a rumour of abuse, is to contact the DSA for advice. It was a difficult situation for the DSA to negotiate – to discover that your boss is, without any expertise, questioning a survivor.  Such situations can, not only create a pastoral minefield, but also add greatly to the stresses placed on a DSA.  One hope is that in future the DSAs’ authority in all safeguarding matters will be strengthened to overrule everyone, even bishops, so that nothing like this can happen again.   A further difficult situation with the Bishop arose in the November 2016 when the DSA accompanied a female survivor to see the Bishop. Because the Core Group had laid it upon the DSA the task of supporting survivors in addition to all the other work, the DSA sat in on that meeting at the Palace with two, possibly contradictory, roles. As an adviser she had a responsibility to advise the Bishop. As the pastorally competent person on the Core Group, she also had responsibilities to the survivor/victim. Which role was she supposed to play at that meeting? Whatever she decided to do it might well have compromised or contradicted the other role.  Things between the Bishop and his DSA did not improve and the Report gives details of the strained relationship into 2017.  The Bishop seemed unable to grasp that safeguarding management was best left to trained professionals. At one point a suggestion was even floated that the DSA might consider a CDM against her own bishop. 

As we have mentioned, the Chester DSA is not given a name and this has enabled us to examine the role and not a person. Out of the Report I take this confusion about exactly what are the responsibilities of a DSA as one of the main lessons to be learnt. If DSAs are to do an effective job in the future, there must be clear job descriptions and proper codes of practice to support them. It must also be possible for them to hand over at an early stage pastoral responsibility for survivors. Among the IICSA recommendations to the Church is one that commends the idea that DSA’s become officers and take a place among the senior staff in a diocese. In view of the confusions that were present in 2016 in Chester and in London, such a change cannot come too soon. It should also be impossible for any official in London to delay the setting up of a core group by six months. The consequent stresses on the local DSA as well as the survivor were considerable.  She was also having to carry other strains caused by a bishop straying into her area of responsibility, as well as a certain ambiguity in understanding exactly what her role was in the crisis that was developing. Everyone deserves to able to work with clear expectations and boundaries. When these are constantly in flux because of the whims of those with power, this is a cause of intolerable stress.

The anonymous DSA in Chester is in some ways the hero of the saga revealed by the Whitsey Report. She appears to have acted compassionately, promptly and professionally at every turn. Unfortunately, she was at different points failed by structures, human incompetence and a lack of proper support. Let us hope whether she is still in service or not, that she has fully recovered from the emotional and professional battering she received while working for the Chester diocese. Perhaps out of her stress and suffering, something good will come.  Perhaps there will be brand-new set of professional standards in the terms and conditions for all DSAs. This, after all, is possibly the main recommendation of the IICSA report. If anyone was in any doubt that this is necessary and urgent, they should read the Whitsey Report.  This is what I have done and I invite others to feel the same empathy for the hard work and stress experienced by the brave Chester DSA.

At one point in the IICSA hearings in 2019, the treatment by church leaders of a survivor of sexual abuse was described by a witness as ‘shabby and shambolic’.  This memorable choice of words was shared with both Archbishops, Canterbury and York.  They each admitted that this was a fair description of the way the survivor, Matt Ineson, had been dealt with.   The words summed up the coldness, indifference and failure of care that has contributed enormously to the suffering of Matt and many other abuse survivors.  It still continues today in spite of many declarations by leaders to the contrary.  Matt still awaits an apology for his abuse from the Church.  Another survivor is reported to have sent 17 letters to Lambeth Palace before receiving a single acknowledgement from a correspondence secretary. Matthew Ineson himself disclosed his abuse eight times to three bishops and one Archbishop.  Some of these disclosures were verbal and three were in writing.  When later challenged, some of the bishops concerned were still hazy about these meetings and one even claimed not to remember it at all. When we encounter failures of this magnitude, we realise that we are dealing with something beyond just incompetence and poor organisational skills. We are, in all likelihood, also encountering a human reluctance to face up to the suffering of another person. It is so much easier for our peace of mind if we allow ourselves simply to close our ears and eyes to what other people sometimes have to experience. We know that the pain of another person can so easily become our pain if we allow it to.  So we shut it off as though it does not exist. Is this what we are encountering in the failures of bishops and archbishops in the Church of England to meet up with and support survivors?

Any experience of suffering carried by an individual seldom makes them easy to live with. One of the untold stories of the Second World War is the arrival home of thousands of men from the fighting.  Many, possibly the majority, were suffering from what we now call post-traumatic stress. Nobody then in the therapeutic professions had really mastered the implications of what was involved in being exposed to so much violence, killing and all the other experiences of war.  Each individual soldier returning home had to deal with trauma as best he could.  The best that many could achieve was to shut down quite large areas of the personality. Children were then brought up by fathers who were not really in touch with areas of emotion or empathy. These children thus suffered as did their fathers from this experience of mass trauma brought about through war.

Today we speak about post-traumatic stress far more readily. Most people know about the symptoms which can come to anyone who is a survivor of abuse or who has witnessed a violent episode.  Much of the work of the psychotherapeutic profession is helping people to deal with events from the past which can cause them continuing trauma or stress. We seem to have a far wider recognition of the issues around stress and trauma with a greater sensitivity to the consequences to body and mind that linger after passing through such ordeals. Some people carry the memory of past trauma in their heads, but it is increasingly realised that severe stress, of whatever kind, can have effects on the body as well. Headaches, palpitations and panic attacks seem to oppress many people including survivors. On top of that we are all familiar with the way that stress and trauma can result in severe episodes of depression.

My impression of church abuse survivors is that, like WWII survivors, many have buried the memory of their individual traumas as a way of coping with their PTSD. Those who do speak openly about what they have suffered, are probably not typical. But when we have the testimony of survivors who are prepared, at considerable cost to themselves, to relive and speak of what they have been through, we should be extremely grateful to them. Our gratitude is partly in the fact that they are speaking on behalf of others for whom the Church also has a continuing responsibility – the silent ones still coping with trauma.  Everyone who has endured the pain of abuse, whether they are silent or vocal, is worthy of our compassion and attempts at practical help.  The vocal survivors, the ones who have come forward to speak openly of their abuse, have had to possess considerable stamina and courage.  They are not necessarily comfortable people to have around.  They force us to confront evil, shame and pain.  They also remind us how people we want to rely on, trusted church leaders, are sometimes prone to failure with devastating consequences. The recent IICSA report on the Church of England was greatly shocking.  Some of these leaders were actual abusers but many more have failed badly through their inertia and a failure to act when compassion and justice demanded it.   In the past few days, the House of Bishops, has now begun to show some proactive energy in putting right some of the poor decisions and failures of the past.  The protestations of ‘will do better’ seem now to have a certain weight behind them.  They will be still more effective if the insights of survivors are drawn into the process.  Their experiences make them a vital part of the much-needed process of redress and reconciliation.  The culture of niceness and deference will be the more quickly overcome if the realism of survivors and their past confrontations with both human evil and institutional inertia is brought within the process.

We need to reflect a little further on this narrative of bishops and other church leaders who appeared so inept and incompetent in their failure to listen or respond to the stories of suffering told them by survivors.  This seems to be, in the first place, about people unable to handle emotional discomfort. Other people’s suffering is a threat to their own sense of well-being.  It thus has to pushed away. It is extraordinary how common this account of shunning, ignoring or avoiding survivor accounts seems to be.  When we hear of promises by senior religious leaders to meet sufferers which are not followed up, we have to ask, what are they afraid of?  Every priest, as part of their day-to-day work, faces the unbelievable pain told to them by others. They cannot draw back from the officiating at a funeral of a two-year-old child on the grounds that it would be upsetting.  Pain, whether our pain or that of someone else, is the reality that many have to deal with, both as clergy and laypeople. Surely bishops cannot afford to be seen to fail in this basic pastoral task.

A second reason for the failures of church leaders recorded by Matt Ineson, Gilo, Jo KInd and others, may be accounted for by the way that bishops have become creatures of the institution. Because they are all public figures, they are apparently no longer allowed to think and behave as individual human beings. While there are notable exceptions to this pattern, it seems that episcopal reactions and encounters with the public are carefully staged managed and manipulated under the supervision of advisers and reputation managers. Almost the only positive thing to be said about Donald Trump is the way that he has allowed his personality to be exposed fully to the American public.  It is not mediated through a publicity machine. What we see is in fact ugly and toxic, but at least it represents the reality of his personality. In most institutions, every word, every decision and every appearance of a leader is carefully choreographed. It cannot be easy to be a bishop and sacrifice along the way much spontaneity and empathy. There must be among the bench of bishops, individuals who pine for the days when they could simply be themselves and respond to others primarily as a human being rather than as a creature managed by the system.

 The rebuilding of the church will need a great deal in the way of authentic leadership, one which is currently invisible. We need to see the human face of leadership, not the carefully crafted stance or statement of a communications expert. I am sure that the majority within the church would prefer to see such honesty and authenticity. They also want to identify with fresh, dynamic and effective compassion for those who have been so cruelly treated by abuse and the subsequent manipulations by the church system wanting to protect itself.

by Andrew Graystone Part 2

In October, the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual abuse published a coruscating report on the Church of England’s treatment of victims and survivors of abuse. In November we expect a similarly damning report into the work of the Roman Catholic Church. The focus now turns to the provision of redress for survivors.

The Church of England’s General Synod has already committed itself to providing redress – but I wonder how much thought has been given to what that actually means. It’s important to get this right. In recently-published research to accompany the inquiry, IICSA discovered that 74% of respondents said that their overall experience of the process of seeking redress was negative. Survivors consistently said that organisations underestimate the significant emotional and practical cost of seeking redress…especially where it is long and drawn out. Presumably the church doesn’t want this – especially given that survivors have already said that the process of disclosure and investigation is in itself deeply abusive.

As an aid to getting this right, it might be helpful to start by setting out what redress does not mean. 

Redress is not compensation

Travel insurance policies often come with a gruesome table of compensation payable for physical harm that might occur to the policy holder: so much for the loss of a limb; so much for the loss of an eye, and so on. It’s brutal, but practical. When an individual has been physically or spiritually invaded, as happens in abuse, there is no way to undo what has been done. Like insurance policies, some forms of address might attempt to put a monetary value on the loss that has occurred. But of course, money can’t make up for the loss of a limb, and nor can it pay for the loss of childhood, physical integrity or mental wellbeing that is caused by abuse. To put a cash value on a rape, for instance, is abhorrent, and ignores the context in which it happened, and the betrayal of trust involved. Redress may include compensation, but it is certainly not limited to it.

Redress is not a fine

Break the speed limit and you may be punished with a fine, or even the deprivation of your driving license. The fine is both a punishment and a deterrent to re-offending. The deprivation of your license is intended to guarantee that you won’t do it again, at least for a while. Redress for victims is intended neither to punish nor to deter the church. If it was, then current church leaders might feel aggrieved that they were being asked to accept punishment for what others had done, maybe in a previous generation. Of course, costly redress may well encourage the current generation of church leaders to be even more vigilant to stop contemporary offenders. But redress is not primarily intended to be punitive.

Redress is not ‘one size fits all’  

Part of the nonsense of the travel insurance tariff is that it doesn’t take account of context. The loss of a leg is terrible for anyone, but for an athlete it is also career-ending. Redress needs to take account of context. And whilst for one victim, their abuse may have robbed them of job, housing and pension, another victim might have independent means, so that monetary compensation isn’t so important. Redress will require different things for different people. It won’t be possible to produce an off-the-peg package. Bespoke solutions are needed for every individual harmed by the church.

Redress is not all about money

Until now, the church has assumed that redress simply meant giving a victim an appropriate amount of money. What’s more the church has assumed that the right amount of money is the amount the insurance company is prepared to pay. (It never seems to have occurred to church leaders that they might be under-insured, or that insurance companies have an incentive to minimise payments, using means that might go wholly against the church’s values.) Redress comes in many forms, and looks different for every victim. Some need to hear an apology from an individual, or from an institution. (Here it becomes obvious that a meaningful apology cannot be issued by press release A majority of IICSA respondents said that an apology was the most important aspect of redress.  General or weasel apologies are easily recognised.)  Some need the church to  acknowledge failings in the management of their case. Some victims do need financial compensation for losses they have incurred. Others need money for support services, such as the provision of counselling or paid medical care. For some victims, non-monetary actions like the provision of explanation or information is important. They want to know who knew what, when, or how something was allowed to happen. Some victims might need opportunities for their creativity to be validated, whilst others might need funding for a holiday with their family to start to draw a line under what has happened. There are endless other components that might make up a redress package. Some require funds, but others don’t. Last but not least, some survivors need spiritual support – which may of course need to come from outside the offending church.

Redress is not an event

It will be obvious by now that redress cannot be a single event. The damage suffered by a victim might have occurred on a particular day, (though in the vast majority of cases it occurred over an extended period,) but the trauma suffered by a victim is chronic, and may well be lifelong. Redress cannot be delivered in a day, or fulfilled by the writing of a cheque, however large. The church has a duty of care to its victims that is lifelong. In practice, this means that redress needs to be approach on a stipendiary basis. It is clearer to see it as a form of pension rather than a redundancy payment. Need and trauma revisit a victim regularly, and the monetary, practical and spiritual support a victim receives will need to continue for as long as it is needed.

Does all of this seem overwhelming – like a debt that can never be paid? It is. This is not a ‘problem’ like a leaking church roof, that can be ‘fixed’ by a special offering or a single act of contrition. The cost of abuse to a victim is immeasurable, and the cost to the church will be equally huge, not only in money but in time, detailed care and…well, let’s say it, love.

Having identified what redress is not, let me outline briefly some of the factors that need to be considered in determining what it is.

There are two main dynamics of redress: compensatory and restorative.

Compensatory factors

The first dynamic to be considered in relation to redress is compensation. This is effectively the debt owed by the church to the victim. It comes in several forms.

Compensation in respect of the abuse itself 

Notwithstanding what I have said above about the impossibility of making monetary recompense for abuse, money is one of the ways we can provide some comfort to a victim. Natural justice suggests that if an individual’s life has been made unbearable by abuse, we should do what we can in other ways to make it more bearable. This type of compensation can never equate to the abuse itself. How could it? How much money would make up for a child having been forcibly raped by an adult?  A ludicrous question. We can’t put a figure on such an awful experience – and yet from sheer compassion we owe it to those who have been injured to make them as comfortable as possible.

Compensation for the loss of earnings, savings or status. 

Abuse has physical, mental and spiritual consequences. They may express themselves in mental breakdown, depression, addiction or loss of confidence. It is common for individuals to lose their job or their business, or to be unable to manage their finances well.  As a result, many victims have suffered tangible losses as a direct result of their abuse. Redress needs to take full account of actual losses. This will certainly mean that the church will need to pay off debts or medical bills, or whatever else has left the victim indebted. It may mean repaying the costs of therapy, which may have cost the victim many thousands of pounds over many years.

 But a proper redress scheme might go further, and include compensation for the loss of a potential future. Imagine that a child suffers appalling abuse, and is so damaged that they go “off the rails” and miss out on much of their education. Perhaps they could have gone to university, or had a significant career, but as a result of the abuse they ended up in much reduced circumstances. Should they be compensated for what might have been, as well as what they actually lost?  If so, how can that be measured?

Compensation in respect of the mishandling of the process. 

For many survivors, a great deal of the pain and suffering associated with their situation comes not only from the experience of abuse itself, but from the ways in which they have been dealt with by the church. We now know that many have been lied to or discredited; some have been made to wait for months or years for help.  Redress needs to include not just the repair of the original abuse, but compensation for this experience too.  In this case it is important that compensation in respect of the mishandling of the process should be sufficiently costly as to be punitive to the church. If compensation in this area doesn’t cost the church dearly, there will be little incentive to get processes in order for the future. Conversely, if failings on the part of the church make a real difference to those who are responsible today, there will be a strong incentive to handle the process of disclosure well and justly. 

Restorative factors

The second aspect of redress is the restorative dynamic.

If the compensatory dynamic is characterised as debt-based, the restorative dynamic is characterised as needs-based. The key question is, what does this individual need to restore them to a good place, a healthy place, where they can flourish in the years left to them? Again, this aspect of redress might take many forms, and will be different for each survivor. For some, their overwhelming need is for security. If the trauma of abuse has left you feeling insecure about everything, the restorative process needs to address whatever it is that will make you feel secure. In this instance, a redress process that is conditional, or that continues to drip-feed resources to the victim at the whim of the church will only add to the abuse. A victim struggling with insecurity needs a sufficient guarantee from the start that they will not be left wanting in the future.  A victim who is left with overwhelming shame might need some form of public validation. A victim who feels that they lost their vocation because of their abuse might need help to rediscover and realise it. All of this is complex, deeply pastoral, and a million miles from the approach that simply looks to sign a cheque and send the victim away.  Time and again in the gospels, we see Jesus not only healing people’s physical wounds and disabilities, but more importantly, restoring them to society in ways that allow them to flourish.

In conclusion I need to add three small but highly significant points. 

The first is that for every primary victim of abuse, there are any number of secondary victims, whose needs also need to be taken into account. Partners, children and friends may also have suffered hugely as a direct result of the original abuse and the church’s subsequent mismanagement. The family and congregation of the offender may also be counted as secondary victims. Any worthwhile system of redress must be relational, taking into account the needs of the victims in the context of their family and community

The second point is that in the case of church-related abuse (or other kinds of abuse for that matter) we need to take account of the spiritual damage the victim has suffered. We can hardly expect IICSA to comment on this in detail, but the lack of care from the church for the souls of victims is perhaps the most incomprehensible and reprehensible aspect of the church’s failings in safeguarding. Church leaders seem to find it very difficult to look this challenge in the eye, but it is starkly obvious to the general public, and it is amongst the primary factors in the decline in church adherence in the UK. Spiritual repair, at an individual and corporate level, will be the truest sign of a sea change in the church’s attitude to safeguarding.

Finally, a practical suggestion for those who find the whole business of redress overwhelming. I commend the notion of “snapshot” restoration as a starting point for the church’s approach. This model defines a fixed point in the victim’s story, and attempts as a start to restore them to where they were financially, spiritually and socially to where they were at that fixed point. It’s a bit like those computer programmes that will restore your data to a fixed point in the past, before it went wrong. One obvious snapshot to choose is the moment at which the individual disclosed their abuse to the church. The church’s duty to restore a victim as best as possible to that point seems unarguable, since surely we can’t justify a survivor being worse off for having disclosed their abuse.  That doesn’t define the totality of redress. It doesn’t begin to address the debt owed for the original abuse, or the deepest needs of the victim. But it is measurable and manageable, and it answers the oft-heard cry of the victim that “I wish I could go back to where I was the day before I disclosed.”

by Andrew Graystone

In February 2019 the General Synod voted unanimously to urge its National Safeguarding Steering Group to “bring forward arrangements for redress for survivors.” An emotional debate was notable for the new Lead Bishop of Safeguarding saying that redress would require “serious money” from the church, and for Canon John Spence of the Archbishops’ Council responding that “This is not about affordability, it is about justice. . . The funds for redress will be found.”

For all the commitment implied by a unanimous vote, I’m not sure that most Synod members have fully understood what redress looks like, or indeed what the theological rationale for it might look like. There is further work to be done in understanding redress, and a great deal to be learned from other institutions have led the way.  In this blog I want to offer some early theological principles that might guide the church in deciding how to manage this very practical work over the next few years.  I will do so by looking at three stories from Luke’s gospel where some form of redress seems to be in play: Jesus’ parable of the Bad Priests and the Good Samaritan, his encounter with Zacchaeus the tax collector, and his brief meeting with the servant of the High Priest in the garden of Gethsemane.

The Bad Priests and the Good Samaritan  (Luke 10:25-37)

This is a parable that ought to make very painful reading for every church member, and especially for religious professionals. The priest and the Levite in Jesus’ story not only walked past the injured man; they actually crossed the road so as not to come too close to him. If this story were to be read in the context of church-based abuse, another layer of shame would apply. Imagine if the priest and Levite walked by, knowing that the victim’s injuries had been caused not by some random highwaymen, but by members of their own profession.

But I want to focus on the response of the Samaritan. First, he notices, and takes pity, and goes to the man to engage directly with him. Meeting victims at close hand is always a painful, challenging business, but this Samaritan is prepared to enter into the mess and get the victim’s blood on his own hands. This can’t have been pleasant, and it certainly wasn’t convenient. The Samaritan interrupted his own plans to look after the victim. Every human, including but not limited to Christians and their leaders, is mandated to interrupt their own plans to tend to the wounded person they meet in the street. Often we have seen church leaders resisting meeting with victims, or at best, meeting them on their own terms in their own places.

The Samaritan goes much further. He stops, goes to the victim, and takes the man with him to a place of safety. Then he takes personal care of him until it is clear that he is secure.  Then he entrusts the future care of the victim to an inn-keeper, providing generous funding. Then he arranges to revisit the man, and promises to pay the bill for his future care. “‘Look after him, and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.”

Jesus invites his listeners to commend the Samaritan for his approach; stopping, getting personally involved, staying with the victim, and paying for his long-term needs. He does all this for a stranger – indeed for a natural enemy. This is not simply justice, but something far bigger. The Samaritan is being commended for a deep and costly compassion that is centred solely on the needs of the victim. We can be sure that the victim, violently attacked and robbed by strangers, was not expecting such care. Probably the attack had robbed him of far more than his money. It had destroyed his sense of safety and self-worth, and his faith in human community. The actions of the Samaritan stranger went far beyond stopping the bleeding and patching up the man’s wounds. We can imagine that in the security provided by the Samaritan’s attentive care, the man began to take the first faltering steps to rebuild his faith in the possibility of goodness, or even just in his ability to walk down the street in safety.

A redress scheme in the name of the church will be intimate, detailed, and committed over the long term, like the Samaritan’s care of his new friend. It is not for contemporary leaders to distance themselves from the debts of those who went down the road before them. Instead, they need to discover the grace in the opportunity to serve the wounded they have met by chance at the side of the road.

Zacchaeus  (Luke 19:1-10)

The story of Zacchaeus the tax collector is well-known from Sunday School. The emphasis is often placed on Jesus’ willingness to restore even a cheating tax official to his band. Less is made of Zacchaeus’ personal redress scheme. In the story, Jesus doesn’t demand that Zacchaeus should make amends for his previous extortions. The initiative comes from Zacchaeus himself, as a response to Jesus’ unconditional welcome of him. “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.”

There are two elements to Zacchaeus’ plan. The first is to divest himself of 50% of his income. Why does he do this? Presumably because he feels that the possession of so much wealth, and the power that went with it, was in itself part of the problem that had corrupted him. It doesn’t seem to matter where all this wealth goes, as long as it goes. He simply needs to be poorer in order to re-enter society as a follower of Christ.

The second element of Zacchaeus’ plan is specifically related to those he has abused. He’s not only going to pay them back; he’s going to pay them four times what he owes them. It is an act of reckless generosity. It is more than enough to restore what he stole from his victims. It goes further, restoring the relational damage between them, and then further, restoring the self-esteem of the victim, and further still– giving in excess, for the joy of giving and of receiving.

Any redress scheme in a church context that seeks to minimise reparations due, or to preserve the wealth of the offender, will be missing this vital element of excessive, joyful generosity. The church should approach the business of redress with joy and open-handed generosity. And if there are margins of error, they must fall to the benefit of the victim. 

The High Priest’s Servant  (Luke 22:47-51)

This tiny moment occurs at one of the high points of tension in the gospel narrative. It is so small that the other three evangelists miss it altogether. But it is a momentous act of real significance to those seeking to enact redress. Jesus is with his disciples in the garden of Gethsemane. The exhausted disciples are woken from sleep by the sudden arrival of soldiers to arrest Jesus. In the panic, Peter draws his sword and lashes out, catching the servant of the High Priest and cutting off his ear. It is a petty, ineffectual and desperate act – meaningless in defence of Jesus, but life-changing for the poor man who loses his ear. 

In the midst of the melee,  with his own life in imminent danger, Jesus stops everyone in their tracks. “Enough of this!” he says.  He goes to the young servant, touches his ear, and miraculously heals it. Jesus didn’t cause the problem, and Peter couldn’t fix it. There were a great many other things for Jesus and the disciples to be concerned with. Yet in the heat of the moment, Jesus stops everything, and takes time to heal a man that one of his disciples has wounded.

Church leaders have many things to worry about. They are concerned with declining influence, waning finances, poor reputation and all of the problems of an increasingly secular society. Providing adequate redress for victims of abuse from previous generations must seem sometimes like an irritant; a drain on time and resources with little positive benefit to the church.  And yet the ministry of healing, of which the delivery of redress is a core part, is not peripheral to the church’s mission, but the very heart of it. The church does not need to deliver redress in order that it can get on with its work of mission and ministry. Following the model of Jesus, it needs to see the delivery of redress to victims of abuse as an essential part of its ongoing mission.  

If there is one common factor in all three stories it is this: in each case the actors stop what they are doing to attend to the victims. In this, the church has so far fallen short. It has tried to manage the business of safeguarding failure whilst carrying on with business as usual. There has been no national act of contrition; no moment of drawing a line. Perhaps the first step for the church in considering how to make redress to victims of abuse in its midst is to stop everything; to look into the eyes of victims, and look into the mirror. The publication of the IICSA report seems the ideal opportunity to do this. Without stopping, it is hard to see how the church as a whole will be able to tend appropriately to those it has hurt, and in doing so, receive the grace of God.