By ANON (Views from the Pews)

“The House discussed the start of work on a review of the definition of safeguarding, to examine whether the Church’s structures and processes are established in a way that can best ensure everyone it comes into contact with is kept safe from harm.” (Minutes of the House of Bishops Meeting, York, 21 May 2026).

We have recently had another visit from the Archdeacon. Our parish is about to go into vacancy (the Vicar is leaving), so we have had the pep-talk about what an “opportunity” this time will be for our congregation and parish. We have no idea how long the vacancy will be, and the Archdeacon (helpfully?) said that the current gap between a clergyperson leaving and a new one arriving in the Diocese is about 18 months. Some vacancies take longer to fill, we were told.

We should be OK going forward. Our benefice comprises two parishes, with one Victorian church and one much older. Both have church halls. One of the parishes also has a mission church that was built on the new housing estate in the 1960s. So, we have five buildings to care for. The is also one JMI CofE school in the benefice. We do Messy Church too, and have a ministry to the residential and nursing homes in the parishes. Churchgoing numbers have been steadily declining over the past decades, and the pandemic (2020) hardly helped. But we have a nice Vicarage and also a house for the Curate in the other parish (formerly the Rectory), though, of course, no actual Curate these days, because far fewer people are offering for ordained ministry. So, like the rest of the Deanery, we rely on several retired clergy to help out. But they are getting older and not being replenished.

The Archdeacon told us that this “opportunity” we have before us – a long, 18-month vacancy in all probability – is a time when the laity can “discover their own ministry”.  At the PCC meeting, the Archdeacon reminded us that “every Christian has a vocation, and every baptised member of the church has a ministry”. We were told to renew our commitment to the Diocesan vision for “the ministry of the whole baptised people of God”. As we wait, pray and work for a new incumbent, we might be “surprised to discover how rich and fulfilling this ministry of the laity can be”.

Whilst I don’t necessarily baulk at such sentiments, I was left with an uneasy feeling about how things have been left. Sharing a vision for “the ministry of the whole baptised people of God” sounds OK (sort of), but I also know this is not a phrase found in the New Testament. I quietly wondered to myself if the Archdeacon knew that this overused soundbite wasn’t biblical?

Be that as it may, we will roll up our sleeves and get on with keeping the ship afloat, the show on the road, and the shop open for business. That, in essence, is what we are bound to do until sometime in 2028, when, God willing, the long siege of improvisation, burdens and duties is lifted, and we are finally relieved by a new Vicar.

Meanwhile, what most of us dread on the ground is the paperwork, administration, and responsibilities we will collectively be left with. Our benefice has two PCCs, both of which are independent charities. Our crumbling 1960s mission church has no PCC, but it does have several trustees as it is also a charity. We have to pay the quota to the Diocese too (there is no relief during a vacancy), and also handle the insurance, maintenance, and audits for the church hall kitchens, as well as contractors who handle health and safety.

We could probably manage all of this, though we only have one Church Warden for the Victorian church. Our other older church is about to lose one of its Church Wardens too, and we cannot find a replacement despite trying hard. There is one Treasurer for the benefice, but not one for the individual PCCs. We are not sure if this is legal, but the Archdeacon has been “taking advice” on this since last summer. Thus far, silence reigns on this query. So, we are just carrying on.

But it is safeguarding where the wheels look set to come off. Many denominations specify that any person with a recognised ministry should undergo DBS vetting and safeguarding training. On the assumption that anyone who has a role or responsibility that might relate regularly or frequently to a young person (i.e., under 18), vulnerable adult, or person who is ‘temporarily vulnerable’, we are struggling to make sense of how we are supposed to manage the next few years.

Frankly, we don’t know who should be covered by church safeguarding training, vetting, and DBS checks, and who should be included in the statistics and returns for the Diocese. To be honest, this wasn’t really any easier when we had a Vicar.

For example, when it comes to ministry with, to or from vulnerable adults, we accept that anyone involved in bereavement visiting, ministry and support should probably be listed. But quite a few people in our congregation offer this kindness and care just as good Christian neighbours might do, and it’s not clear to us that we can make people register with some Diocesan list and comply with their training just because they also happen to come to church. We think that laypeople who regularly help out at funerals or baptism visits, or anyone involved in supporting families, probably should be vetted.

We also have vulnerable adults (including people who are registered disabled) in our congregation who are actively engaged in various ministries (e.g., leading worship, music, intercessions, reading lessons, etc).  But we don’t know if they need vetting for any risk they might pose to others? Or, for any harm they might come to whilst they are ministering?  According to the Diocese, technically, it is the person who is offering the ministry who has to be risk-assessed.  But the ministers in this case are vulnerable adults, so what do we do?

We have similar quandaries with our young people. Some youngsters help out in Sunday School and support the crèche. Some of our youth group lead services with the worship band and even give short talks at the all-age services. Again, we don’t know if our young people need vetting for any risk they might pose to others? Or, do we vet the people they minister to for any harm the young people might come to whilst they are ministering?

More generally, with worship, we have lesson readers, welcomers, sidespersons, and folk leading intercessions. We assume that as these are all involved in regular ministry, they should all be vetted, trained in safeguarding, and subject to DBS checks. But that is a very large slice of our congregation. We do actually have a lot of lay participation in our worship, and wonder if everyone in the music group needs to go through the safeguarding vetting and training processes too? The guidelines from the Diocese stipulate that “anyone involved in ministry” should be, but that would be dozens and dozens of people. It might include most church members.

We also have some elderly retired clergy and lay readers sitting in the congregation, but they no longer have an official licence to minister, and so they don’t preach or take services. That’s fair enough. But people still look to them for pastoral care and occasional spiritual counsel. After all, they are experienced, kind, gifted and pastorally wise. We don’t know whether we are in breach of diocesan guidelines by allowing this to happen, though we don’t see how it could be prevented.

Finally, the issue that really perturbs us is hospitality. Our last Vicar was lovely, but their spouse was not a Christian and didn’t go to church. Despite that, the Vicarage was endlessly hospitable to the congregation and wider parish. Do we need to put all of the members of a clergy household through safeguarding training and vetting even if they are non-churchgoers? What about retired clergy holding an official licence and entertaining at home, but with lodgers in their house who are not vetted? Or what about vulnerable adults and under-18s who are part of a clergy household and involved in supporting events at official or casual church events, including hospitality in a Vicarage, but have not been safeguarding-trained or vetted? Are they at risk, do they pose a risk, or is it a case-by-case matter of resolving the queries?

We genuinely don’t know, and when we raised this with the Archdeacon, we were told that the Diocese would “take advice” and get back to us. That was last year, and nobody in the Diocesan safeguarding team seems to know the answers. As almost everyone in our churches has some responsibility, and we try to model a holistic vision for and approach to lay ministry, we think that everyone in the congregation should potentially complete safeguarding training and be vetted through DBS. But that would be silly, wouldn’t it? The Archdeacon has promised “to clarify the position of the Diocese”. Meanwhile, we are apparently meant to carry on as before.

These days, the Church of England talks a lot about “every member ministry”, but it doesn’t have any watertight definitions of ‘minister’ or ‘ministry’, or even precise legal demarcations. These terms can mean almost anything, and they vary from parish to parish. In our church, the team that serves the tea and coffee each week after worship and supervises the drinks and snacks for the children has a ministry (according to some definitions of safeguarding). Some say the team should all undergo DBS checks and safeguarding training. But it will be different at other churches in our deanery, where high numbers of laity involved in numerous ‘ministry teams’ won’t be vetted at all, and neither will the leaders of the home groups or Alpha Courses.

Meanwhile, our diocese has been busy collecting enormous amounts of personal data from laity across the parishes so everyone can be ‘processed’ for safeguarding vetting. Unfortunately, the diocesan IT systems were recently hacked, and a lot of personal data was stolen, so some churchgoers have had to apply for new IDs. So, it looks like our data is not safe in the hands of the diocese, which, quite frankly, comes as no great surprise. Yet the diocese still insists on collecting our personal data to allow us to have any kind of role or ministry (even if we are just talking about the team making the tea and the coffee).

I can foresee a day when anyone who does anything in church can expect to be vetted and trained. At that point, the only way to avoid such unwarranted personal intrusions and this overbearing scrutiny will be to promise that you will make no contribution whatsoever to “every member ministry”. Increasingly, that is the vocation beginning to stir in me.  If any readers can offer advice or share experiences on how we can manage this going forward, we’d be grateful.

This blog is a chapter from Bullies and Bystanders, edited by Janet Fife and Anne Lee, which is published this week by DLT. Rebecca Parnaby-Rooke is a trained music therapist who facilitates the online community The Ordinary Office.

Rebecca Parnaby-Rooke

“Silence is Golden”, as the Tremeloes famously sang. Jazz musician Miles Davis spoke of his craft belonging in the music he did not play; and quotes have been attributed to both Debussy and Mozart speaking of the power of silence in music. The notes you don’t play are often as important to a piece as the ones you do.

Think of that moment when a conductor holds the orchestra in position after the final note of a piece. Nobody plays a sound, nobody moves. The music is still being intentionally crafted, as represented by the musicians remaining poised. The art is still in motion. But for that moment, they are allowing the silence to ring out just as powerfully as the notes did moments before. Without that moment, what came before would be diminished.

It is an art, knowing how to craft silence. As music therapists, this forms an essential part of our training. In his excellent blog “What is Music without Silence”, Phil Evans succinctly explains the way we work with silence to support our clients. Specifically he explains. “Silence in music therapy, as in life, can take on many qualities. It can be oppressive or mutual, uncomfortable or soothing.” (Evans, 2013). It is this subversion of silence from the intentional and powerful to the forced and harmful which I seek to explore in this chapter.

Preserving the Positive Silence

In a music therapy session, if I heard a client play a soft instrument, such as an egg shaker, and responded with a hard strike on a bass drum, it would drown out their contribution, send the message my voice was more important, and discourage them from contributing again. I wouldn’t be doing my job. My role within the session is to facilitate the client in communication, musical interaction, and therapeutic development, not to make the musical sounds I like best. So, I may choose to hold my silence and look interested, hold a paused chord to invite more of their sound, or repeat their pattern to show I had heard it. I would acknowledge what they had done musically and give them encouragement to continue sharing what they had to offer.

How often is that the response to a survivor? We hear you, we are interested, please give us more?

Should my response be effective, and the client be in a position where they feel able, we may proceed on a musical journey together, exploring what they have to share. My role now is to facilitate, encourage, and most of all listen. To hold the space for any emotions or challenges we may encounter on the way.

How often is that the experience during a survivor journey? We are here for you, please know you are supported and we will tackle whatever arises together?

Once the moment has run its course, all has been expressed, and we come together in a moment of pause, there will be a silence. An opportune moment. This is the moment in which all that came before can be taken away as constructive, or can be ruined.

How often is it that the meetings survivors have which feel to have been beneficial are ended with platitudes, broken promises, or inaction?

I treasure that moment of silence, however brief. I invest in that moment of shared understanding, of coming together at the end of an intense journey. For it always is profound when someone chooses to share vulnerability with me. I have a responsibility in that moment to honour their choice, and take it forward with grace and respect. For me, that means recording what has happened in my clinical notes, sharing the event with family or staff teams (should that be appropriate) and ending every session with a “Thank you” song for the great privilege it has been to be with the client in music.

How often are survivors’ experiences respected and centred so? How often are records comprehensively kept, and information appropriately shared in line with GDPR and Caldicott principles? How often are survivors thanked for the great efforts they go to every time they relive their experiences, knowing the cost each time?

What is Retraumatising?

The cost of subverting silence is retraumatising survivors. This takes many forms, but first let us be clear with a definition of the term. Retraumatising is defined as “one’s reaction to a traumatic exposure that is colored, intensified, amplified, or shaped by one’s reactions and adaptational style to previous traumatic experiences(2)’. Essentially, an event which takes a person back to the state of trauma experienced at a prior time. This is not to be confused with the term ‘trigger’, which in comparison would be an event which increases a person’s emotional response in relation to a state of trauma experienced at a prior time. Put simply, a trigger reminds and therefore evokes. Retraumatising places the person back in the physical, emotional and spiritual state of trauma as a full-bodied response.

It may feel like a bold claim to suggest silence can impact a person to the extent they have a physical response – until we consider the myriad ways silencing can occur, especially in the context of bullying: repeated microaggressions which make a person afraid to speak out, in case their contribution is commented on, ridiculed, or contradicted. Being spoken over or shouted down. Left out of email chains or meetings. Finding out about key issues concerning their work through unofficial channels, removing any opportunity for discussion or feedback – with the refrain “Oh, I thought you already knew” echoing though the gossip. As if that would make it okay – the blow had already been delivered and further participation in sharing the news was a mere aftershock.

The earthquake analogy is a good one to use when it comes to trauma and retraumatising. When an earthquake hits you get the initial tremor, registered on the Richter scale and causing various levels of damage. It is a most unsettling thing to feel, an earthquake. During the Market Rasen earthquake in Lincolnshire on 27th February 2008, I was woken from my sleep feeling like I was being thrown around in a snow globe – while still laid on my bed.  I have never felt anything like it. But that isn’t necessarily the end of it.

Aftershocks can be just as devastating as the original seismic event. Some even register as high on the Richter scale as their original tremor. The aftershocks can keep on coming for days, even years; one series of aftershocks from New Madrid in North America have been active for 145 years – and counting! Not only do they cause damage in their own right, but they destabilise what has been shored up from the previous events. They make already damaged spaces worse. They trigger near collapses to become full destructive events. Just as retraumatising events do for abuse survivors.

Silence, Retraumatising & Spiritual Abuse

Judith Herman describes silent survivors as “carrying the weight of a burden that does not belong to them(3)”. When the #MeToo movement gained rapid traction on social media in 2017, it was almost as if sexual abuse survivors everywhere were breathing a collective sigh of relief. They could finally lay down the weight of their burdens and relate to people. Use their agency. Share parts of themselves which had never seen the light of day. No longer be silent.

For with silence comes shame.

I cannot talk about this, it must be hidden. I’ll be considered dirty, stupid, I brought it on myself.

With silence comes doubt.

Am I a victim, or actually, did I deserve this, were they right, am I wrong, bad, mad? Evil. Sinful.

With silence comes fear.

What if I accidentally talk about anything close to this, and cause trouble. I’d better not talk at all.

With silence comes introversion.

I can’t talk about this, so I won’t talk about anything. I’m better off on my own.

With silence comes frustration.

Can’t people SEE that something is wrong? That I’m hurting? That I’m not ok?

With silence comes anger.

WHY is nobody LISTENING to me? WHY won’t someone HELP ME?

When we are forced into positions of silence, all of this confusion, pain and negativity has only one place to go: inwards. We become ashamed of ourselves. Doubtful of our own identity. Fearful of our own judgement. Introvert, unless we use crutches to take us out of our misery for just a short while. Frustrated because we know, deep down, we were made for more than this.

And then comes the anger. Anger because all around us we see the pastors who abused us as children continuing to live out their days free from justice. Anger because we pursue our abusers through the courts, through jury trials where we, as witnesses, are the ones tried and found to be “not convincing enough” while our rapists walk free. Anger because we lose our health, honour and livelihoods to relentless bullies who use statutes and diktats to trap us in a world of legalism. While we sit, silent, typing messages and deleting them, because “it won’t help our case”.

I often wonder, actually, if it would help our case. If instead of adhering to the social norms of smiling politely and ignoring growing animosity, waiting two months for the next PCC to raise an issue, or subtweeting our grievances without ever making an actual complaint to the person involved, we would actually do better by grappling with the process outlined in Matthew 18:15-17. Speak up, individually, then with trauma-informed, trusted, and suitable supportive peers. Make it commonplace for siblings in Christ to be people who have difficult conversations. Because the harm which comes from fear of speaking up cannot be overemphasised.

In her courageous book A Spirituality of Survival(4), Methodist leader Barbara Glasson talks about the importance of finding a language of inclusion. We can only do that if we make space to listen and truly hear what each person has to say. What one person may see as liberating, another may see as oppressive. We can only begin to understand those dynamics if we name them first, without seeing them as confrontational or personal attacks, just spoken truths from the hearts of beloved siblings in Christ. When we speak into the silence, name our truths, we give each other the power of information. With that, the weight of the burden of silence is lifted. The shame, pain, and sin is placed back with the one to whom it belongs. Jesus can deal with it there. With us, the process of restoration and reconciliation can begin. Aftershocks can no longer impact the previously damaged infrastructure because instead of being shored up with wood, it is now being rebuilt from the ground up with iron.

We don’t know what burdens are carried by those we meet. Some of us may never be able to speak of them. Others may, in time, but not yet. Through my work I have been privileged to enable the breaking of silences which have been held for decades. As people of faith we are called to nurture spaces where all feel able to speak. Where silence is an invitation for glorious sound, not an oppressive, threatening blanket of pressure. Whether through speech, sign, augmentative communication tools, writing, singing, symbols, advocacy, or any other form of expression. We must be open, listening to and caring for what we receive in the space we hold. For what beauty could we be part of if we are?

(1) Evans, P, “What is Music without Silence.” At https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/phil-evans/music-therapy-silence_b_3390764.html  Accessed 14th October 2022.

(2) Danieli, Y,  “Fundamentals of working with (re)traumatized populations” in G. H. Brenner, D. H. Bush, & J. Moses (Eds.), Creating spiritual and psychological resilience: Integrating care in disaster relief work (pp. 195–210) (Abingdon: Routledge/Taylor & Francis Group, 2010).

(3) Herman, J ed., Trauma and Recovery (New York:  Basic Books, 2015), p. 200.

(4) Glasson, B, A Spirituality of Survival (London: Continuum, 2009).

Copies of Bullies and Bystanders are available from Anne Lee or Janet Fife at the discounted price of £10 + 2.50 P&P. Contact Anne Lee at

anne.lee@retired.ox.ac.uk or Janet Fife at jhfife@icloud.com

I am sure that most of my readers will have watched detective dramas on television where, during the investigation of a murder, a large chart is placed on the wall at the police station.  On this chart will be affixed pictures of all the possible suspects.  Without such a helpful visual aid, it is all too easy for the viewer to get the characters and their position within the fictional investigation hopelessly muddled up in the mind.   Most of us find such charts helpful in making sense of all the information that the fictional police and detectives are busily amassing in the drama. 

Another common convention, when drawing these fictional charts, is to create connecting lines between the suspects.  These lines show the way the suspects are linked in some way to each other and, sometimes, to the same businesses or institutions.  Every character has their own identifiable network.  Each works and lives within a context and this can be visually expressed through the use of these lines.  Quite often there is a moment in the drama where the chief detective is shown staring at the chart trying to see if there are any more connections that have been overlooked.  The detective will also be looking for such things as anomalies or patterns on the chart to enable him or her to crack open the case so that the guilty one can be revealed. 

This image of a chart, with pictures of suspects together with their connections, came to my mind as we heard the latest news about Jonathan Fletcher.  His story is well known and most of what we know about his malfeasance has been set out in Andrew Graystone’s excellent second edition account of the Iwerne saga, Bleeding for Jesus.  This blog assumes some knowledge of the story down to the very recent ‘examination of the facts’ hearing, at the Crown Court at Kingston upon Thames.  At this hearing Fletcher (JF) was found to have committed the sexual abuse and assault offences of which he was accused, even though he was judged as ‘not fit to plead’. The judge was obliged to ‘impose an absolute discharge’.

The important part of this JF story, I believe, is not to be found in these somewhat squalid episodes revealed inside a Surrey court, but in the way he was a key figure in the entire conservative evangelical world in the Church of England.  Although JF served most of his ministry at a single church, Emmanuel Wimbledon, he was probably more influential within this evangelical network than any other single individual.  He was the one who, for at least three decades, seems to have occupied a quasi-episcopal role within this powerful church network.  No one knew the individuals within that spider’s web better than him, and he appears also to have had enormous power within those circles to exercise a dominating patronage role.  Thus, he was able to place his own favoured candidates in the top jobs of the uber-wealthy parishes within the network.  Although that personal power, because of his old-age and pervading scandal, has now faded, most of the leading parishes within this wealthy network are still run by individuals who obtained their positions through knowing him and obtaining his approval.  These are the parishes that are able, because their immense wealth, to employ, in some cases, 15 or more curates and their loyalty to the wider church structures is, at best, luke-warm.  The whole conservative evangelical world in the Church of England was for decades substantially managed and controlled by JF.  No one could further their career within that world without JF’s personal approval.  In the light of all that has been revealed since 2019 when his past criminal behaviour was brought into the light of day, it is hard not to see him as a kind of mafia boss within this section of the Church.  In the current court case, JF is deemed to be suffering from dementia and unfit to answer charges of assault and sexual abuse.  Whatever further details of this story emerge, it is hard to see how the damage done by this individual will be allowed to dissipate for decades to come.  

In reflecting on the life and influence of JF and the way that he seems to have acted like a spider at the heart of the large interconnecting web, we need to think further about the lines that hold this structure together.  Going back to our imagined chart on the police station wall, it is these lines, these connections, that JF did so much to create and sustain, that help us to understand the dynamics of the con evo world.  These lines operated like a circulatory system within the human body with the flow of blood being coordinated and controlled to a large extent by JF.  The style of relationships that we observe in the con evo world, many reflecting unhealthy power and dependency dynamics, still exist.  To understand these processes, we need to go back one further stage, to the influence of Iwerne and the English public-school. We need to look at the part played by this powerful institution in English society on the Church.

Much information about the influence of the Iwerne camps on the con evo section of the C of E has been brought to light.  We now understand better how the culture and ethos of the English public-school find their expression in sectors of other institutions, not just the C of E. There is a lot of valuable material in Graystone’s book on this topic.  Some of these values derived from this source were undoubtedly good.  Boys were introduced to the idea of self-sacrifice and perseverance in the face of adversity, and this may have done much, in the past, to help build up the morale of a nation facing conflict, whether in the task of empire building or fighting world wars.  A single word comes into my mind to describe this self-sacrificial aspect of public-school formation and that word is ‘chap’.  In the vocabulary of 60+ years ago, and maybe now, a chap was someone who played hard and worked hard for the team.  He was reliable and honest, especially in the context of supporting others who were like him in background.   The word chap attracted to itself various adjectives.  ‘Good chap’ was an important accolade, or the word decent was frequently used. 

Some of the metaphorical blood that flowed into the character of Iwerne campers and protegees of JF could be seen to possess positive and commendable qualities.  But the public-school system bred other darker values which have been now recognised as toxic and harmful.  My observations here come from my own stint at a similar school, but it was not one to attract the attention of Nash’s Iwerne project.  We were however imbibing some of the same arguably toxic values that were found alongside the positive qualities in the public school system.  The first thing I should mention was a constant undercurrent of violence that existed.  I am not describing physical bullying, though this existed.  I am describing an environment which sometimes allowed for an unexpected crisis of violence or cruelty to erupt, so that one could never be totally relaxed in front of senior boys or masters.  Christian teaching did exist in the school, but it was not a type that encouraged individual spiritual flourishing or exploration.  Words like duty, loyalty and obedience seemed to typify what was taught about morality.   These were all corporate values and the loyalty that was demanded in the school was always to further corporate well-being, whether it was the values of the sports team, the house or the school itself.

Corporate morality is not of itself a bad thing.  What was unattractive and more serious was the effect of a fiercely hierarchical pattern of authority that existed within my school.   Boys fought tooth and nail to obtain the status of prefect or get chosen for the school (or house) teams.  Because there was so much in the way of competitive behaviour, there was also a lot of energy expended in striving to obtain status in some sphere.  The hierarchical environment also bred a particular kind of corrosive snobbery.  One did not associate with younger or less successful boys.  Friendships were often political. Who you were seen speaking to might enhance or undermine your status in the school.  It need hardly be said that values that might help build up the support of real community were not valued.  Any admission of vulnerability or indeed wanting to help the weak or disadvantaged also had little place within the system.

I realise as I write these words that they may only be the memories of a previous generation of public-school pupils and that things may today be quite different.  But I recognise that many of the current generation of clergy and bishops who have imbibed some of the values of public-schools and Iwerne may be unwittingly mediating these same values into the blood stream of parts of the church. JW is a product of this value system and a promoter.  He would have known well the competitiveness, ruthlessness and cruelty inherent in the public-school regime.  As one of the socially well-connected alumni who negotiated the system successfully, he would not have had any cause to criticise it.  So, in his long career of intense mentoring and influencing of younger clergy, he would been sharing these public-school values that seem to invert the values of the Magnificat.  Iwerne never seemed to be about exalting ’the humble and meek’ and there was never any talk of putting down ‘the mighty from their seat.’  

 Public schools in England traditionally stood for a distinctive elitist culture rooted in such things as fierce loyalties, entitlement and the worship of power as embodied in the successful sports hero.  The same values that emerge from these practices would spill over into the later lives of those who experienced them.  The professional networks they joined, including the CofE, continued to embody these values.    JF seems to have been a key player in creating and sustaining a group with the CofE strongly practising the toxic values of privilege and entitlement.  I am pleased to be able to say that not every conservative churchman aspired to these values and theology.  A group of churchmen of this theological persuasion represented by the late Melvin Tinker, seem to have stood apart from these elitist values that flow along the veins of what we might describe as the public-school mafia found among the heirs and successors of Jonathan Fletcher.  If the majority group among these conservatives is to have a future in the wider church, it may need to start by questioning and purging itself of the toxic legacy and poisonous contamination of some aspects of the public-school influence in the CofE.

By Carolina Frank

Jesus loved to teach through ordinary things. Seeds. Soil. Wheat. Weeds. Everyday images that people could recognise from their own lives. In Matthew 13, He speaks about a field where good seed is planted, yet over time other growth appears among it.

Anyone who has tended a garden knows this experience. You do not always notice unwanted growth at first. It arrives gradually, almost invisibly, and blends into what is healthy and good. Churches, like gardens, are made up of human; sincere, imperfect, hopeful people trying to follow God together. And wherever people gather, there will always be moments requiring wisdom, humility, and gentle correction.

Jesus reminds us that spiritual health is not about pretending problems do not exist. It is about tending carefully to what helps love, truth, and trust grow stronger.

“Whoever has ears, let them hear.” — Matthew 13:9

The Strength in Listening Well 

One of the great gifts any church can offer is the feeling of being truly heard. Most people know not to expect perfection from faith communities, but what they long for is honesty, kindness, and compassion when life becomes difficult. In conversations around safeguarding, listening matters deeply. Often the most healing words are simple phrases like: “Thank you for telling me,” or “I’m sorry you carried this alone.”

Jesus Himself spent much of His ministry listening to people others overlooked — the grieving, the isolated, the wounded, the ashamed. He created space for people to speak openly without fear.

“Carry each other’s burdens.” — Galatians 6:2

Healthy churches are not churches without challenges. They are churches willing to meet challenges with grace and courage instead of silence or discomfort.

When Small Things Are Left Untended

Most difficulties in life do not arrive all at once. More often, they begin almost imperceptibly. A misunderstanding that is never quite spoken about. A moment of hurt that is felt, but not fully named. A conversation that feels slightly too difficult to have, so it is gently set aside for another time that never really comes.

Over time, these small moments can begin to shape the emotional climate of a community. Not through intention, but through accumulation. A hesitation to speak openly here, a reluctance to ask a difficult question there. And slowly, without anyone consciously deciding it, trust can feel a little more fragile than it once was.

In the Parable of the Weeds, Jesus offers a simple but deeply human image of a field where different kinds of growth appear together. The point is not alarm, but awareness. Life, even in its best expressions, contains a mixture of what nourishes and what complicates flourishing.

In church life, these “weeds” are rarely obvious. More often, they are subtle patterns that develop over time. A preference for avoiding difficult conversations in order to keep things comfortable. A quiet instinct to soften or postpone uncomfortable truths. Or a sincere desire for harmony that, unintentionally, makes honesty feel slightly more costly than silence.

None of these arise from ill will. In fact, they often come from very understandable motivations, like a desire to protect relationships, preserve unity, or avoid unnecessary pain. Yet even good intentions, when left unexamined, can gradually narrow the space in which honest dialogue takes place.

Scripture, in its wisdom, encourages a different rhythm — one where truth and love are held together, not separated.

“Speak the truth in love.” — Ephesians 4:15

This is not a call to harshness, but to integrity. It suggests that real spiritual maturity is not found in avoiding difficult conversations, but in learning how to have them with patience, humility, and care for one another.

There is, at times, a quiet but important distinction to be made between protecting an institution’s reputation and tending to its deeper health. One is concerned with how things appear outwardly; the other is concerned with what is forming inwardly. The second is less visible, but ultimately more important, because it is what sustains trust over time.

And this is where humility becomes so central to the life of a church. Humility allows a community to say, in effect, “We are still learning.” It creates space not only for speaking, but for listening well. It makes room for reflection without defensiveness, and for growth without fear.

Seen in this light, growth is not a disruption to be managed, but a gift to be received. It is the ongoing work of becoming more truthful, more attentive, and more capable of holding both care and clarity together in the same heart.

Finding Faith Later in Life

One of the most beautiful surprises in modern church life is how many people discover faith later in life. We sometimes imagine spirituality belongs mostly to the young, but the opposite is often true. About 80% of adults over 50 say spiritual belief matters deeply to them. For many, faith arrives slowly and unexpectedly, like a letter appearing years after it was first sent.

Later life has a way of sharpening life’s deeper questions. People begin thinking more about meaning, forgiveness, family, legacy, and peace. Some who once felt distant from faith find themselves drawn toward prayer, Scripture, or the comfort of church community. Others return after many years away.

This is one reason gentle, trustworthy churches matter so much. Older (as well as younger) adults are looking for sincerity. They want communities where people can speak honestly, ask questions freely, and feel welcomed exactly as they are.

“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he.” — Isaiah 46:4

Faith is not something we outgrow; it becomes more integrated into the texture of a life well lived.

The Enduring Value of the Good Seed

It is important to remember that Jesus’ parable is ultimately hopeful. The story is not about fear of weeds, but about confidence in the good seed. Most churches are filled with acts of kindness that rarely make headlines — volunteers making tea after services, people visiting the lonely, pastors comforting grieving families, congregations praying faithfully for one another. These things matter enormously. The presence of challenges does not erase the goodness that also exists. In fact, moments of honesty and reflection can strengthen communities and deepen trust. A healthy church is not one that claims to have all the answers, but the one willing to grow in wisdom, compassion, and care.

Tending the Garden Together

The parables of Matthew 13 remind us that faith is not static. Like a garden, it requires attention, patience, and care. Some things nourish growth; other things  hinder it. Wisdom lies in learning the difference.

Church safeguarding, at its heart, comes down to creating communities where people feel safe, valued, heard, and loved. And perhaps that is the deeper invitation within these parables: to become more attentive to what helps goodness grow. Because wherever truth, kindness, humility, and compassion are nurtured, good seed continues to flourish.

After reading this new book by Lucy Sixsmith on Soul Survivor (SS), the notorious and controversial movement formerly led by Mike Pilavachi, I had to ask myself what genre of writing was being employed.  The blurb on the back cover uses the word ‘memoir’ to describe the book.  It is, however, much more than a memoir.  I find it easier to describe it as a written conversation between various parties of which the reader is one.  The central character is, of course, the author Lucy who, in her mid-thirties is trying today to make sense of her past exposure to the enormously influential movement for Christian young people, which flourished in Watford for some thirty years.  As part of our initiation into the strange (for some) world of charismatic beliefs and practice, we are introduced to a younger Lucy.  The teenage Lucy is also a party to the conversation. As a young impressionable teenager confronting ideas and experiences that she cannot fully process, she initiates us into the religious worldview of a religiously inclined teenager from the noughties.  By the end of the book, the reader will have been introduced to a variety of ideas and notions that may be novel to many older Christians, but the effort will have been worth it for two main reasons.  In the first place, charismatic Christianity is becoming the dominant expression of the faith in Britain today and Lucy’s description of the ideas and assumptions in the movement, whether as a teenager or as someone speaking from early adulthood, is not a bad place to start.  The second set of insights being offered, especially to non-charismatic Church people in leadership, is an understanding of some of the dynamics that are around when churches allow obedience and surrender to a maverick leader.  Such practices can easily tip over into manipulation and exploitation of impressionable and vulnerable young lives.  SS was allowed to function for thirty plus years without anyone asking the penetrating questions that might have better protected the young people it purported to serve.   

I write this short review as a charismatic ‘sympathiser’, having been an observer of the scene for a number of decades.  My own ability to identify with the leaders of the movement ceased with the passing of an earlier generation such as John Richards and John Gunstone.  For a variety of reasons, the movement turned in a new direction in the 80s.  The baton of leadership was passed on to a group with a more sectarian outlook.  To use political terminology, the soft left charismatic style of the 70s became the hard left controlling leadership of the later 80s and 90s.  Having myself found a small niche in the charismatic world in the early 80s, so that I was even invited to speak at healing conferences about my interest in this ministry, I ceased to be regarded as ‘sound’ by the end of the decade.

The SS generation of the nineties and noughties to which Lucy belonged, alongside many of her Christian contemporaries, brought forth a manifestation of charismatic practice which was strongly identified with the conservative evangelical camp.  What Lucy describes of her home church and her experiences of SS camps breathes a Christian culture that I would have found unbelievably stifling and restrictive.  For those of us who had been warmed by the early pioneer days of the charismatic movement, it had been a cause of sadness that our ‘liberal’ opinions made us a cause of suspicion and threat to the generation that came after.  Lucy’s memories and descriptions of her Christian pilgrimage as a young person growing up in this later culture contains much material for reflection.  We have laid out for us the kind of teaching that was shared by Mike Pilavachi with the tens of thousands of young people who imbibed the Christian faith from this somewhat uncompromising conservative narrative.  The importance of the book is found in the way we are invited by the author to share in her struggles, her questions and doubts.  It is as though we are invited to participate, through the reflections of the book, in a journey of faith from the perspective of a very young, but highly intelligent mind. 

When the Music Fades is not in any way meant to be a hatchet job of the damaging ministry of Mike Pilavachi.  Lucy clearly understands the implications of all that has been revealed of the harm and trauma that has befallen a group of young men –  the massages and the dangers of inappropriate closeness to Mike.  This typically involved being at first favoured before being discarded.  There was much more going on and, as the title of the book suggests, Lucy recognises fully the part played by music in creating a distinctive style within the culture of SS, one which was highly attractive to young people.  The sections of the book discussing music, as far as this commentator is concerned, are the ones that are most difficult to engage with.  Perhaps music taste will always be an area of partial incomprehension between the generations.  But I still find myself asking the question whether the style and emotion revealed through the music of SS takes us into the presence of God or whether the same music is a tool of manipulation and control.  One of Lucy’s chapters is entitled Surrender.  Is this word a description of an emotion deliberately cultivated by leaders and musicians to create a power dynamic which was of benefit to the leaders, in terms of gaining kudos from the wider institution?  However much ‘surrender’ seemed to describe the spiritual place where the young participants thought they wanted to be, it is a word that has strong undertones of vulnerability and control.  Telling a large crowd of potentially vulnerable young people the importance of surrendering to an emotion-laden atmosphere is a situation of great potential danger.  Do teenagers have the necessary discernment and capacity for self-protection not to be sucked into something that may harm them at a deep level? 

As a university academic Lucy is alert to the need to respond to many of the searching questions that she recognises will be asked by her potential readership.  She includes helpful material from a variety of disciplines which help to give the context for the phenomenon we know as SS.   Her understanding and presentation of material connected with the history of evangelicalism leading up to SS is instructive and helpful.  She tells us about Charles Simeon, Henry Martyn and Moody and Sankey.  Little by little we find ourselves absorbing the message and significance of SS from these other perspectives, those of theology, history, psychology and direct experience. 

The value of the book is perhaps that it throws down a challenge to church leaders, asking them to state where the boundaries should be drawn between something that is orthodox, wholesome and life-giving and other cultures which may be exploitative and harmful.  The perennial issue about the place of music needs fresh scrutiny and attention, since we cannot simply assume that because something is popular it is necessarily spiritual and healthy.  Lucy makes a serious attempt as a newly minted adult to communicate the feelings and strong emotions aroused in these young people by the evangelistic youth culture of today.  My own level of incomprehension at the genre of musical style within this culture suggests to me that there may still be a considerable problem for the Church to overcome.  Mike Pilavachi was allowed to practise a risky, even dangerous style of Christian ministry for so long, partly because church leaders did not understand and therefore could not monitor intelligently and perceptively what he was doing.  The author, the grown-up well educated Lucy, offers a bridge enabling other Christians outside charismatic circles to understand what was being attempted in these camps. Many of the themes of an earlier charismatic culture: prophecy, tongues and healing were still present.  My own impression from the book’s descriptions is that these gifts were being practiced with a level of wackiness.  There is also a sense that gifts are being practised, sometimes without any proper idea of what was going on.  There is a vivid description of the author emerging from her tent one morning at camp to discover her friend prophesying to a group of younger boys.  These boys were in Lucy’s words ‘sceptical, but magnanimous’.  There was some level of acceptance in that they stayed to listen even though they seemed unconvinced.  Lucy’s own home independent charismatic church had been deeply impacted by the Toronto Blessing so she was wide open to wacky episodes in church, along with vivid displays of emotion.  The adult Lucy is offering us keys to understanding something of this culture.  That understanding will allow the rest of us to feed on its energy and vitality, even when we feel a necessary system of checks and balance is absent.

The adult Lucy Sixsmith provides us with something extremely precious: a direct personal penetration and insight into areas of church life that is strange to many of us.  We feel privileged to enter such an unfamiliar place, the Soul Survivor camps, but with Lucy as our guide, we are better able to understand and certainly not be harmed by the experience.

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Some readers may have seen the news about the legal case involving Jonathan Fletcher. Surviving Church wrote on the earlier stages of this case aboutwhich readers might like to remind themselves. https://survivingchurch.org/2020/12/22/bishops-safeguarding-and-jonathan-fletcher/

Many ordinary citizens in this country probably let out a sigh of relief when the news broke that the leader of Hungary, Victor Orban, had been defeated decisively in his country’s general election some days ago.  I cannot claim to be a close follower of the political story of Hungary, but the little I have gathered about the right-wing, even fascist, control of that society by Orban, meant that I was able to see that things could perhaps now change for the better in the whole of Europe.  All of us who passionately long for a just and peaceful outcome to the Ukrainian conflict, will pray that the European community will be able to increase their military and economic support for that beleaguered country.  This is perhaps easier now that Orban, a steadfast Putin ally, is no longer around to obstruct their efforts.

One of the features of contemporary politics is the way that right-wing, even fascist, regimes often seem to claim adherence to a faux set of Christian beliefs and values.  We find a colluding between members of our own home-grown ultra-right party, Reform, and Christian nationalist ideas.  Christian nationalism, with its strong attachment to flags and marches has become a significant political force in this country.  Most of us, who do not support a version of the Christian faith imbued with such crude nationalism, simplistic versions of history together with a fondness for ideologies of discrimination and hate, find this link deeply disturbing.   But such ultra-right ideas resonate with many people, Christian or not, because somehow, they satisfy a basic human instinct to feel powerful and important.  Those who join such right-wing groups see the opportunity to become part of something bigger than themselves.  Listening to slogans and simplistic notions of good and evil, the right-wing acolyte is attracted to a crowd energy which is new and exciting.  By becoming part of it, the follower is buoyed up to be a somebody; they are raised up above the humdrum sensation of being utterly insignificant and ordinary to become part of a new and successful elite.

The insights I may have about the attractiveness of right-wing fascist thinking were first formed by living in Greece for ten months in the Sixties, under the totalitarian rule of the Colonels’ regime.  Most people have now forgotten the horrors and cruelties of this group of middle-ranking soldiers who took over the running of their country for a full seven years.  The dimension that shocked and fascinated me at the same time, was the appeal to Christianity to boost the ultra-right ideology that these rulers imposed on their country.  They found a pliant group within Orthodoxy and persuaded them to support them.  Together, the government and this Christian group, known as Zoe, created a pseudo-religious Christian veneer to justify their political activity against the ‘communists’ who opposed them.  The word communist could then be stretched to describe anybody who did not follow the regime’s ideas.  The British government of the day, a Labour administration under Harold Wilson, was certainly to be characterised in this way, particularly as he was outspoken in the face of the physical torture being used on many political prisoners languishing in camps on islands. 

This blog is not intended to be an account of fascist right-wing regimes, but I want to remind my readers of the way that extreme politics, as seen in Hungary, Greece and large sections of the Republican party in the States, wants to use Christianity for their own political purposes.  There is a simple three-word slogan which describes both the ultra- right-wing politics and expression of the Christian faith found in these conservative settings.  The slogan declares quite simply that Might is Right.  This bald statement expresses an ideology, whether in a political or religious setting, that deals with certainties and an authoritative version of truth.  It is the task of the leaders, political or faith-based, to enforce that ‘truth’ with whatever means are available.  Backed up with the forces of might, the dominant proponents of truth seek to impose their ideology on an entire society, or the parts of it who have surrendered to the leadership of the group with the most power.  When only a single version of truth in any area of knowledge, religious, political or scientific, is tolerated, we find ourselves living in a society which is marked by sterility and a failure to thrive.  Conformity and passivity are rewarded, and independence of thought and questioning are severely punished.  I need not go back very far in history to be able to offer examples of sterility and cruelty contained in what we can describe as fascist thinking.  To assume that any individual, any party or ideology can be irrefutably correct all the time is the stuff of fantasy thinking.  Those of us who do not live in this ideological fantasy world know that truth is rarely attained in a pure form.  The best that can be achieved is a theory that works as long as it does until a better theory comes along and cause us to rethink our assumptions.  It is claimed that science works because those at the edge of research are constantly seeking to refine their theories by trying to prove them wrong.  Truth in every discipline is attained only by a constant questioning and putting current theories to the test.  This is somewhat different to an image of finding truth and then retreating behind castle walls to defend it from questioners and doubters.

There are two things that unite right-wing politics and conservative theologies.  One is the assumption that those in charge, and they alone, have the truth.  The second thing they share is the belief that their ownership of this truth gives them the right to forcefully act in opposition against those who take a different view.  The holders of ‘truth’ always have the duty to persecute the ‘heretic’, the one who does not agree or who thinks independently. Paradoxically, such a claim to own the truth in this way is found to be something attractive and appealing to many.  When the Christian leader/pastor makes such claims for his or her preaching the Word, in a way that nothing can be questioned or discussed, we enter an environment which is fascist in style.  We come to a question that asks whether we should ever expect our faith to have a resemblance to a totalitarian system that seeks to control and dominate in the pursuit of one version of truth.  This dominant truth is one beyond discussion or any kind of questioning.  All that I have written so far will indicate which side I take in such a debate.   I am a passionate believer in allowing truth to be discovered and explored in an attitude of tentative humility.  When someone appears who wants to articulate their truth in a somewhat different way, I would want to listen and understand what they are saying rather than assume that one of us is right and the other wrong.  Dialogue and discussion may open new dimensions of truth to both sides, if all are prepared to explore truth in this way.  The problem is that the fascist mentality does not allow this kind of approach.  It demands acquiescence in the diktat of the leader and so there is never room for exploring an approach to truth which wants to explore a quite different approach.

Authoritative answers, whether in religion or politics, are comforting in their claims.  At one sweep we are relieved of the pain of uncertainty and allowed to enjoy the reassurance of being ‘right’ because our side in the argument has the ‘might’.  There are churches who possess much in the way of institutional power and wealth and, because of this, they want to dominate and control other churches.  Such misuse of power among Christians may resonate with many people.  They believe it is somehow ‘biblical’ and it is preserving truth.  The reality, as we have tried to suggest in this blog is that the path to real truth is being shut down.   Truth is something towards which we travel while never fully possessing it in our human lifetime.  Our journeying and our hope that the destination we have glimpsed is the right one is what keeps us on the Christian path and in a state of permanent expectancy.  In the words of St Augustine, You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.

It is hard to keep tabs on episcopal vacancies in the Church of England at present.  By my calculation there are nine diocesan episcopal posts that are vacant or to become vacant by the summer.  Two further diocesan posts are in temporary abeyance (Lincoln and Salisbury) while the current incumbents await the result of disciplinary enquiries that are being undertaken.  That would possibly bring the total number of diocesan vacancies to 11.  This total means that around 25% of the senior episcopal posts in England are currently in or about to enter a temporary vacancy.  Fortunately, for the smooth running of the Church of England, there are enough suffragan and retired bishops around to provide temporary cover so that episcopal leadership for all 42 dioceses is preserved for the foreseeable future.

The appointment of diocesan bishops in England is, by all accounts, a complex and painstaking operation.  There has always to be, before names are considered, a statement of needs prepared by the receiving diocese.  A group of carefully chosen and highly qualified individuals are brought together to form a Vacancy in See Committee. This group will meet and share their thoughts on those who are thought to be suitably qualified individuals.  Confidential lists of suitable candidates are already in existence and those who become diocesan bishops have probably been on such a list of potential nominees for some time.  The political sensitivities within the Church of England require the Committee to understand fully the importance of a cultural and theological fit.  A diocese such as Chichester (to be vacant in June ‘26) would expect to receive a leader with Anglo-Catholic leanings while the new Bishop of London will need to have skills able to operate sensitively across a wide range of church traditions.   This churchmanship match-up might once have been a major part of what was required for a successful diocesan bishop.  Now this aspect of a candidate probably takes its place alongside all the other pressing skills and abilities needed to cope with the chronic complexity of the role.  Against the background of a severe decline in finance and members in most dioceses, no candidate will be able to offer everything that might be desired from him or her. These expectations have become so numerous that I suspect every nominee will be seen not to achieve the ideal or even required level of excellence in some areas.  The candidate that is eventually chosen will probably have to be a compromise choice.  There are simply not enough experienced candidates to match all the expectations laid on them.  The Vacancy in See Committee do not have the opportunity to choose the ‘Archangel Gabriel candidate’.   Were such a person to exist, the whole process might be considerably less stressful.

I will have more to say about why the pool of candidates for diocesan bishops is not strong currently, but I think it is important to consider from the outside what might be the qualities needed for this post if we were able to design from scratch the ideal candidate.  The qualities I want to suggest as essential for a diocesan bishop can be summarised in three words. The bishop needs to operate well as pastor, leader and teacher.  This first quality that I mention here is the quality of an individual who knows how to care for others, especially the clergy of the diocese.  The clergy are entrusted to be pastors and to care for their parishioners on behalf of the bishop.  In my own ministry I can only remember two bishops who seemed to care and be genuinely interested in my own ministry and welfare.   This is not the time to go into further reminiscing on this point, but I would like to suggest that a bishop should know far more about the individual clergy under his/her charge than just as names in a file.   Fortunately, I have normally been able to find other clergy who would provide oversight and encouragement, but it was not something that came routinely from my bishops.  With the declining number of front-line clergy to care for, this role for bishops might reasonably be expected to come into greater focus. 

The second role of a bishop in a diocesan role is to provide leadership, especially in the form of inspiration and direction for the institution.  The bishop pastor is the one who guides the work and morale of individuals who work for the institution while the bishop leader fulfils a management role in equipping and inspiring the whole.  I would want my leader to have gifts of exceptional sensitivity and wisdom.  I want them to be the people who can guide and motivate committees so that the right decisions are taken.  A good chairperson, as I expect my bishop to be, will read the room with unerring accuracy so that the insights of all present will be heard and taken into account.  Above all, and true to the theme of this blog, I want my bishop to be supremely sensitised to the dynamics of power, including his/her own.

The final quality that I have chosen to emphasise (there are many others – no doubt) is that the bishop to be a teacher/theologian.  Sadly, this last capacity is becoming a rare quality.  Clergy who read books seem to be in minority and those who become bishops may not have this important ability to inspire a passion for godly leaning among clergy and laity.  My ideal bishop candidate will have this capacity to get people excited about God in terms of spirituality, study and prayer.  Needless to say, I have watched, with regret, the short-cuts in theological training that have been brought about for financial reasons.  Perhaps a new generation of bishops can inspire their clergy to give more time to study and the nurture of a mind that is constantly seeking new ways to understand more of the mystery of God.

To return to the appointing of nine (possibly more) men and women over the next 18 months to take episcopal roles of a highly complex and demanding nature, the Church of England authorities know they have a very difficult job.  Most, if not all, of the next generation of diocesan bishops will be suffragans already and so the pond from which to fish is finite in size.  One unsettling question, for which we have no answer, is whether the job of diocesan bishop has become so demanding, if not impossible, that a new generation of younger clergy will refuse to submit themselves to a post that they suspect will grind them down to the point of exhaustion and burn-out.   One ominous piece of information was shared with us about the difficulty of making senior appointments in the Church of England.  In the course of last year, the then leading candidate for the Bishop of Durham who had already gone through several stages in the appointment process, withdrew his/her name at quite a late stage.  The Church cannot easily survive the departure of such highly qualified candidates.  If ever the Church were to find itself in the desperate position of having to appoint candidates who are clearly not up to the job, the seeds of institutional collapse are at hand.  It is also a serious blow to clerical self-esteem and institutional morale when office holders at the level of diocesan bishop are required to step back and take paid leave.  We still have not as an institution recovered from the appalling reputational hit when a diocesan bishop was tried and sent to prison for his sexual crimes. 

One major area of concern which applies to bishops and clergy is whether they are up to coping with stress.  Every member of the clergy has some insight into severe stresses of managing personnel, finance and safeguarding that come their way.  The same stresses, much magnified, are faced by our bishops.   The present cohort of suffragans will know about the impossible demands and conflicts handed to those who preside over complete dioceses.  To take but one area of stress:  how does a diocesan bishop manage when he/she knows that a parish for which he/she has responsibility has a grossly inadequate incumbent in charge?  How does the bishop make a decision and decide whether to allow a toxic clergyperson to take charge of a church, when it is possible/probable that that this charge will be badly mismanaged?  Knowing where safeguarding bodies are buried must be a constant source of stress, even anguish.  While a suffragan remains a suffragan, there is always the diocesan to refer to and, hopefully, sort out the problem.  As a diocesan bishop the buck stops at the study door.  The damage caused by making the wrong decision really matters.  Peoples’ lives and wellbeing are affected.  No one with a conscience wants to be responsible to helping to destroy or damage the life of another or undermine an institution as precious as the Church of Christ.

I end this reflection about bishops in the C/E with questions.  The first is to ask whether the episcopal task is too onerous and stressful to be accomplished successfully today?  The second question is related to the first.  Given the new complexities that surround anyone who operates in a public role, demanding a range of skills probably not possessed by a single individual, is it fair to place anyone in this role without re-writing their terms of contract?  I don’t know the answer to these questions, but I believe that they need to be faced by clergy and lay people at every level of the Church.

 I was having a conversation recently with a supporter of the blog about the meaning of the word safeguarding.   In my response to something she had said, I had simply used the expression ‘power abuse’.  As far as I could see, the expression safeguarding almost always involved a situation where an individual or an institution was being held to account for an act potentially involving the harmful exercise of power.  Safeguarding is the act of protecting the vulnerable against the malign intentions of the strong.  Protecting the vulnerable is a serious business and when we use the term, we should always recognise that something potentially evil is being addressed.  Unfortunately, using the word safeguarding often fails to communicate the seriousness the word deserves.  Somewhere along the line, its use to describe the numerous courses laid on to train church members from congregants to bishops has removed the urgency from its meaning.  It has become an idea that for church people has frequently become rather ‘fluffy’.  It has been detached from the horror that is implied when vulnerable people are not protected and kept safe.  As part of the conversation I was having, I suggested that we might try and do without the word safeguarding, particularly if, by using it, we sanitise and remove the horror of what may be implied by the word. 

Archbishop Sarah, in her presidential address to General Synod in February, lifted my spirits initially when she spoke about power abuse at the start of what she had to say on the theme of safeguarding.   Was she going to say more about safeguarding being rooted in the setting of power abuse or were we going to hear the same somewhat tired cliches about putting survivors and victims at the centre of everything that the Church is doing in this area?  Sadly, Sarah, writing this part of her address that seemed to promise so much, then reached for the cut and paste button on her computer, and we were offered the same stale food of promises and unfulfilled statements about justice and support for survivors.  The promise of a clear-eyed vision and understanding that safeguarding is in the last resort all about the misuse and abuse of power from the top to the bottom of the church structure was not grasped.  Safeguarding was once more to become the overworked word to be used by the Church to suggest that we now have the structures and the understanding to put an end to criminal behaviour and sexual exploitation of the vulnerable within the institution.  The insight that many observers now have is that abuse of power is a perennial problem for every church.  Power is abused not only in acts of sexual deviance but every time a member of the church bullies or obtains gratification from humiliating or dominating someone else.  Obviously sexual abuse is at the extreme end of abusive behaviour we are describing, but there are many other examples of abuse in the life of the church that need to be named and outlawed if we are ever to have a church that is truly safe.  The problem for the church is that we have tolerated for so long dominating, controlling and coercive behaviour that we have learned to overlook behaviour that is sometimes cruel, life destroying and discriminatory.  Safeguarding, in the sense of protecting people from sexual exploitation, is only one small part of the wider reality of power abuse that some church members often face. 

In having this conversation, I was realising that my own book, Ungodly Fear, published 25 years ago as a study on the abuse of power in the church, did not use the word safeguarding once.  The word was not then in common use as a convenient shorthand for the power and sexual abuse issues that we see in the church.   My insight then, when writing the book, was a very simple one.  The Church, especially in the conservative evangelical house-church manifestations that I was focusing on, has a problem with power.  If an individual or an institution is given power over others, then there is always the possibility, indeed probability, that this power will, at some point, be abused.  Independent congregations, led by charismatic narcissistic leaders, are those in the greatest danger of seeing their congregants abused financially or sexually.  Church bodies that preserve systems and protocols of oversight and mentoring may have fewer episodes of criminal abuse, but they still face issues of dealing with power.  The abuse of power in a church setting may take a number of forms.  I described in the book power abuse being manifested in financial exploitation, sexual failings, persecution and the ostracism of disapproved minorities.  There was also the appeal to the demon world to justify behaviour which would be unacceptable to most Christians.  It is my contention that whenever power is abused, not just criminal sexual abuse, it should be scrutinised and, if necessary, outlawed from the Church.  Keeping church members safe does not come merely by protecting the vulnerable from sexual predation.  It should include protection from any kind of abusive power being exercised over them.  We do not always want to recognise these situations of oppression where the strong exercise their power over the weak.  Perhaps the horrors of the past in terms of what has be done to the innocent by godly men (mainly) has desensitised us to this kind of damaging behaviour.  I do not believe it to be an exaggeration to suggest that every form of power abuse in the church is toxic and ultimately destructive.

I am putting forward the idea that the recent arrival of the safeguarding industry into the Church as response to the horrors of abuse has not made everyone safe.  Officially safeguarding is about protecting everyone.  Caring for the young and vulnerable seems to be a worthy activity that can be expected to achieve agreement without argument.  But I am contending for the idea that the use of this word has too easily made everyone feel reassured and comfortable. If, however, we were to lose the word safeguarding and replace its use, when appropriate, with the words power abuse, we change the perception of what is involved instantly.  Safeguarding/power abuse is a matter that demands our immediate attention because we hear in the words something of great seriousness, something that should be responded to instantly.  The task of safeguarding when we take it seriously is not to make us have warm, maybe, patronising feelings for the vulnerable but a deliberate decision to identify vigorously places where power is being corrupted in a way that makes the institution and the people within unsafe.

The exercise of power in the Church is always going to be an activity involving risk.  By saying this I do not mean to suggest that there is no place for authority in an institution like the church.  We need to have ways of determining what are the best ways forward and the decisions to be taken to enable an organisation like a church to flourish.   Gifts of leadership and management are vital for the church.  Simultaneously we need to be far more sensitive to the way that power acting out in a negative way is a constant risk factor in any institution.  Abuse of power, as we have seen, may involve criminal behaviour such as the sexual abuse of a minor.  But any act which has as its aim the gratification of narcissism or self-importance in a leader can easily become abusive.  The problem that often arises is a culture of ‘you scratch my back’ is that there is a corporate agreement to protect bad behaviour.  In this kind of culture those who are not part of a favoured ‘in-crowd’, can find life extremely tough.  Hierarchical churches, whether Anglican, Catholic or independent all have ways of feeding the almost universal desire for power and importance.  People use status and position to boost their self-esteem and maybe compensate for neglect from parents when children.  Such hankering after power blights the smooth running of any organisation.  Sometimes the pursuit of power is not about acquiring importance but rather as a way to avoid the opposite experience, the inherited blight of shame.  This may have been planted within the personality at a very early age by parents or contemporaries.  Warding off the demons of shame, weakness and humiliation in a lifetime of maladaptive growing up may provide a powerful motivation towards behaviour of this kind.

The word safeguarding is, we would suggest, a word that reveals almost nothing of its inner meaning and content.  It sounds neutral and formal while the reality of what it points to is often that of exploitation and abuse of power.  It would be so much more salutary as well as honest if the word safeguarding was routinely replaced with a brief two-word alternative, such as power abuse or institutional bullying.  The Church of England as an institution has, according to numerous abuse survivors, lamentably failed to meet their needs, in terms of pastoral care, compensation and justice.  By refusing to name accurately what has been going on in the abusive episodes it is asked to respond to, the church safeguarding authorities blunt any proper acknowledgement of what has really happened.   How much better it would be if Diocesan Safeguarding Officers were called something that reflected the harsh reality of what they sometimes meet?  A better descriptor might be abuse supporter or in bullying situations, a conflict mediator.  Whatever title is found to be most suitable, it would have to be one that picked up in the title something of the pain, devastation and shame that is so often found in a safeguarding situation. 

The word safeguarding is, as far as I can see, at best a problematic word for many people in the Church.  On the one hand it blunts the horror of power abuse that is often found in institutions like the Church.  On the other hand it casts a miasma of suspicion over everyone in the Church if they have in any way failed to have their training and accreditation brought right up to date.  Perhaps the time has come where we try to manage to have safety in the Church without using the over-used word.  I for one would prefer to have it that way.

One of the outcomes of the internet revolution is the arrival of virtual meetings.  People can gather across national boundaries and time zones and see and speak to others who share their concerns.  Information can be shared and matters of common interest discussed in real time.  Zoom meetings have come to stay and we are still exploring their full potential in the Church and elsewhere.  We are well on our way to creating a radical revolution in international communication which is every bit as earth-shaking and transformatory as the original take-up of email in the 90s.  The barriers of distance are now no longer so high as they once were, even if we have some way to go in making this new technology available and useable by all of us.

If Zoom is the new word to describe the ability of people to meet others across the world, YouTube is the name of the technical medium which enables us to have new experiences of Christian worship.  My wife and I have been virtual attenders of a variety of acts of worship around Britain.  While physical participation in worship inside a building is obviously the best option, there is something to be said for witnessing liturgy and music being conducted to a high standard and listening to a different preaching voice from one’s normal fare.  More recently I have started attending acts of worship quite different from what I am used to so that I can learn something more about C/E congregations that sit lightly on the patterns of traditional Anglican worship.  I am particularly interested in exploring the worship styles of the so-called Resource Churches and the way that this way of worship is carried over into many church plant congregations.  I freely admit that there is a great deal that I have yet to understand about the culture of worship which is charismatic and might be described as post-liturgical.  But, being able to experience it via YouTube does allow me as the observer to get a glimpse of what is going on in these congregations.  I can thus ask myself whether I could ever identify with a form of worship using such styles.  My first impression is to note the enormous gap between the traditional Parish Communion hymn-book styles of liturgy, that prevailed during my entire ministry, with the bands and ‘gospel music’ cultures of today.  It is an important task for both these styles to try and understand each other.  This is what this blog piece is attempting to do from a liberal catholic perspective.   

It is only since Christmas that my visits to important centres of charismatic/evangelical worship in England have taken place with any depth or persistence.   The three that have been visited are Holy Trinity Brompton, Gas Street Birmingham and Soul Survivor Watford.  The one I have returned to the most is HTB and most of my comments will mainly reflect my experience of its practice and style.  The first comment I have to make is the sheer power of the music at all the services I witnessed.  The typical music played is at a physical level often overwhelming.  It has this ability to enwrap the individual worshiper in what feels like being submerged in warm water.   The overwhelming sound created by the professional musicians with singers and instrumentalists is hard to stand apart from, however much one wants to calmly evaluate this music theologically or musically.  In my attempt to get a grasp in what was going on, I was quite grateful to have the distance that YouTube was providing to help me hold on to a measure of objectivity.  If I had been in the building trying to be a detached observer, I might well have failed. The length of the solid block of music confronting the worshippers at the start of the service (15-20 minutes) felt like being thrust under a waterfall of sound.  I would be interested to read a study that explained how such loud emotionally laden music affects the brain’s workings.  The waves of sound and repetitive music certainly reached quite deep areas of the mind.  In some ways the experience was enjoyable but in other ways I felt as if I was being deliberately taken over to become part of a crowd process.  I felt that the music was demanding a complete surrender.  If the singing and guitar playing on a computer screen could have this effect on me, what would happen if I was there in the building.  Perhaps I am now too antique to be able to cope easily with negotiating compelling music of this kind which was leading along a scale to something resembling trance and hypnosis.

The critical part of my brain was able to function in this experience, especially because YouTube allows one to press pause and listen to songs more than once.   I was able, I think, to identify techniques being used by the musicians  to increase the compelling nature of their contribution to the worship.  I observed the extensive use of repetition in the words of the lyrics as this also applied to the music in general.  Particular words like ‘Praise’ or ‘Jesus’ were repeated many times and so such words or phrases came to inhabit the mind in a kind of  ‘ear-worm’ experience.  Even without constant repetition, phrases of music would remain because of the fact they were ‘catchy’ and designed to linger inside the brain.  I am wondering whether the analogy of eating chocolate captures the experience.  Something inside the brain is sweet and enjoyable to the tongue but, having eaten it, one is left with the sweet after-taste which is less enjoyable. 

In trying to analyse the musical quality of the songs I was hearing, I recognised at least three distinct patterns of musical sound.  Each of them is powerful in their own way and no doubt I was experiencing sensations shared by others at the service.  Some of the songs seemed to have a bouncy, happy quality.  These were the joy, celebration songs and it was evident that many of the worshippers were expressing this feeling by the way they moved their bodies.  Typical words in these centred on strength and the victory won for us by Christ.  Towards the end of the cycle of songs of this type, the mood changed.  Instead of bouncy music, the songs focused on the individual relationship with Jesus and how the worshiper has experienced love, forgiveness and salvation.  The music for this was slower and more contemplative.  The typical words of these songs spoke of peace, rest and acceptance.  The change in style was also visibly expressed in the way that the singers, whether those leading or congregational members, moved their bodies in a quite different way.  There was now no bounce in the movement; instead, the movement resembled the way a mother moves when holding an infant in her arms.

A third style of music that I have identified across the worship services that I have attended, is the effective use of a single note used as a background to intercession and prayer.  In some ways this use of a background drone note is one of the most powerful moments in the service.  What I think I was observing was an unrehearsed prayerful interaction where the power came from a real sensitivity in the leader to both the congregation and what he/she was picking up from the spiritual temperature of the building. . The single drone note was not music as such but an atmospheric sound which I found to be extremely moving, deserving the description of spiritual.  In contrast to the rest of the service which felt to be tightly controlled and even somewhat manipulative, I sensed in the drone backed prayer something unrehearsed, spontaneous and open to the Spirit.  In short, the point I felt most in tune with the spirituality of the service was in the moment where the leaders seemed to move the mood of the service from control to a time of spontaneity and into what felt like real freedom and tangible spiritual content.  The online viewer is of course not allowed to witness the time of ministry and healing that seems to take place at the end of many of these services, but I felt, even as a distant participant, that the atmosphere somehow was consonant with the possibility of inner change and healing.

My ‘visits’ to the headquarters of charismatic styles of worship in England have opened up for me memories of past special services which have participated in a genuine atmosphere of Spirit-filled worship.  There have been occasions in my personal worship experiences when I have sensed a pervading mood of spiritual content where anything seems possible.  On such occasions, healings, transformations and spiritual growth have taken place.   The key point about such precious moments was in their spontaneity.  Spontaneity is something very hard to manufacture.  My criticism of the worship style of HTB, Soul Survivor and their imitators is a mixed one.  A good proportion of what was on offer felt far too formulaic and repetitive to be acceptable or even comprehensible to all.    But I also sensed moments of genuine presence of Spirit.  HTB and its imitators have, in my opinion, found some genuine kernels of spiritual reality in what they do, but their worship would be still more impressive if they were to discover how to be open to the richness of other strands of Christian worship and tradition.  Like other Christians, the leaders of HTB need to recognise that they are on a journey, one which can be more open to the dazzling diversity of what it means to be a Christian in today’s world.  Any complacency from a Christian that what they have has put them beyond the place of leaning and discovery, is likely to make them, over the years, become stale and devoid of spiritual power.  

I have tried very hard to be positive and fair in describing a little of my experience of on-line worship in a tradition that is not my usual spiritual fare.  Perhaps I have opened up in myself a memory and maybe a longing for the possibility of a true spontaneous worship that is not manipulative or controlling.  Is there somewhere in Britain that understands what this kind of worship in Spirit and in Truth looks like?  I think I might recognise it when I see it.

Every so often an event in the news triggers a strong memory which may have retreated from our awareness.  The recent reports of thousands of British people stuck in Middle Eastern airports recalled a moment when I found myself in Beirut in 1975 at the very beginning of one terrifying phase of the civil war.  It was an extremely unsafe place to be, but I was following up on a very successful journey three years before.   I was engaging in what I described to myself as ‘ecumenical fieldwork’, making links with Christian leaders from both the Syrian Orthodox and Orthodox members from the Patriarchate of Antioch.  It was an entirely personal journey of discovery.  I wanted, in particular, to learn about an Orthodox youth movement that appeared in the war years in this part of the world.  Having begun to flourish in around 1942, by the time of my visit it was a fully mature expression of Orthodoxy, affecting people of all ages from student members to the elderly.  It was a fascinating story, and I did manage to write up my discoveries for Eastern Churches Review. 

The expedition was not without its moments of drama.  Within three days of my arrival, I found that there was massive crisis in the supply of petrol for the whole country of Lebanon.  There are no railways into Syria out of Lebanon and the only form of overland travel was by shared taxi.  My Lebanese friend took me to a central taxi depot which normally would have had a plethora of taxis competing to transport me across the Syrian border to Latakia, where I was to meet one of my Youth Movement contacts.  On this particular day all the taxis signalled they were out of petrol, and they certainly did not have enough to take me to Latakia.  Eventually we found what was possibly the last taxi out of the capital and we set off, calling at every petrol station along the way.  Fortunately, the last petrol station before the Syrian frontier still had some petrol and we soon reached the comparative safety of Latakia.  If I had not travelled on that day, I would not have been able to reach Syria.  Beirut itself became, in a matter of hours, a place of terrifying danger and mayhem, with uncollected bodies left lying in the street.

The anecdote which I tell is not only explaining how the current Middle Eastern wars have stirred memories of what might have been traumatic experiences for me, but also how the same journey was the setting of a conversation which has resonated in my memory for years afterward.  The conversation was about how the Bible is understood, especially among those who teach and preach every Sunday. Should congregations and their leaders ever be faced with the difficult problems that arise when looking at ‘critical’ questions of language and interpretation. My Lebanese host, Nadim, had been my roommate for four months at the Ecumenical Institute at Bossey in Switzerland.   He was involved in the college for the Orthodox in a place called Balamand in Lebanon.  By 1975, he was a senior member of staff, teaching ordinands the basics of bible study in preparation for ministry.  The particular conversation I recall, centred round, not politics, but my discovery in his flat of an OT one volume commentary published by the Intervarsity Press and obviously well used.  This was a book which gave the ‘sound’ interpretation of various OT problems that students of theology have everywhere to deal with.  This particular volume, true to its conservative evangelical origins , was presenting what I felt to be a thoroughly confusing and misleading view of what the broad consensus view of OT scholarship had to say about critical questions of authorship and historical fact. This commentary, to take three examples, supported the view that the book of Isaiah was the work of a single author, Moses wrote most of the Pentateuch and that Daniel was a product of the exile period. I went through the commentary noting how, what I thought to be the consensus academic positions of Old Testament agreement were all routinely rejected.  I observed how the author consistently argued for a conservative and literalistic explanation on every occasion.  These explanations were political in the sense that every critical conclusion conformed to what the author had predetermined to preserve the ‘correct’ interpretation every time, one which supported the inerrant point of view.  Up to that point I was aware that such conservative ideas were taught in Christian Union circles, but I naively did not believe that ordinands of other denominations such as the Orthodox, were being fed this approach and, consequently, having to argue for the conservative inerrant position in their essays.  The conversation went on for over an hour, and I passionately made the case for allowing every student, not only to know the many critical issues thrown up by Old Testament studies, but also to have a choice in whether to identify with this scholarly consensus. These were the interpretations that sided with the main-stream ‘liberal’ ideas taught by the non-fundamentalist critical approach the world over. 

To summarise this conversation with Nadim, I was given that day a crash course in the politics of conservative biblical interpretation.  There is a lot more I could say about why I believe that there is something profoundly wrong about teaching a single version of truth in biblical studies.  The so-called liberal position over the understanding of Scripture is often decried as being unfaithful to God’s truth and God’s word.  What in fact is the position of the so-called liberals is their plea to be allowed to argue and debate with the tools of criticism for another position than the one laid down by denominational or institutional authority.  The position presented as ‘sound’ or correct can never be the only one allowed in debate.

My own position is to allow myself a freedom to be hesitant or even sceptical when there is a claim to provide certainty.  Sometimes the conservative interpretation for a passage raises more problems than it solves.  The discrepancy over the numbers of animals going into the Ark has a disarmingly simple explanation when one accepts the thought that Genesis is not the work of a single author but a compilation of sources.  To take another claim of ‘liberal’ scholars that there are the hands of three distinct writers in the book known as Isaiah, we have a revealing insight into  the work which makes it far more manageable than if we argue for a single author.  Giving a late date for Book of Daniel (i.e. 160 BC) also helps to understand the thinking of the Jewish nation in the face of their Greek attackers who sought to destroy the Jewish Maccabean princes.  Daniel’s visions may conform to a modern popular understanding of the nature of prophecy – namely it is about what is going to happen in the future.  By contrast the classical prophets in the Old Testament, Jeremiah, Amos, Hosea and Isaiah etc are far more interested is declaring God’s will to the present. ‘Thus says the Lord’ normally introduces a passage where the judgement of God is declared over the people for their immorality, their dishonesty or misuse of their power over the stranger or the poor.    Prophecy is the insight to understand what God wants, even demands, from his people in their pursuit of the life he wants them to have.

A near disastrous trip to Beirut and a significant discussion/argument about the teaching of Scripture came together in my mind for this week’s reflection.  The juxtaposition of these two events may make no sense to the reader but for me, they come together in a strange way.  If President Trump had not started a war in the Middle East, perhaps this important discussion about Scripture might never have been evoked and vividly recalled to my memory.  In thinking out loud about the events that took place over 50 years ago, perhaps I am able to share something helpful with my readers.  There is of course a lot more say of these topics, but at least I have been able to share something of my understanding of Scripture.