The days after Christmas are treated by most clergy as an opportunity to relax a little.  Although I have not been caught up in the endless round of services like the active clergy, I did try and get ahead of myself by writing a couple of articles for the blog in good time so that I could try and forget it over the festival time.  But the circumstances have changed things.  Two events have happened over the holiday period that have thrust clerical abuse back into our attention in a forceful way.

The first event was the publication of David Greenwood’s chronicle of the Peter Ball affair in a privately published book, Basically Innocent.  This appeared a day or two before Christmas.  It contains a factual and yet horrifying account of Ball’s abuses and the subsequent establishment cover-up of his behaviour.   Then on the 27^th/28th came the extensive further Telegraph coverage of the Jonathan Fletcher affair.  The newspaper and the journalist Gabriella Swerling have evidently been working hard on the story since they published their first exposé about Fletcher back in June.  What they have produced is fascinating, not merely for the details of alleged abuses, but for the way that the paper has made many connections between individuals and institutions. 

The stories about Ball and Fletcher have proved to be as much about institutional behaviour and misbehaviour as that of individuals.  Each man offended in the context of having a senior institutional role.  In neither case did the institutions involved seems capable of checking the behaviour of their senior representatives.  Nor did they show much remorse after the nefarious deeds had been exposed. These institutional failures will probably be what is remembered by history.   Individuals have been seriously harmed, not only by the actions of evil men, but by the subsequent failure of institutions that should have protected them and helped them to heal.

Returning to David Greenwood’s chronicle, I found it quite difficult reading the accounts of naked showers and sexual activity interspersed with spiritual ritual.  But the exact details of Ball’s criminal offending are possibly the least important part of the narrative.  What the reader may find even tougher to take on board are the deceitful tricks used by Ball’s allies to harass and undermine those who accused him of wrongdoing.  The then Bishop of Chichester, Dr Eric Kemp, oversaw a policy of non-cooperation and obstruction of the police in their legitimate enquiries.  Questions of truth and falsehood and good and bad seemed not to play any part in his calculations.  All that seemed to matter was a determination to protect ‘one of us’, Peter Ball, together with the good name of the institution that he had done so much to dishonour.  Obstructing the pursuit of justice by a considerable number of distinguished Ball supporters is a key part of the Greenwood account.

Basically Innocent still has the power to shock even though most of the information contained in it is already in the public domain.  The recent Telegraph story on Jonathan Fletcher, however, contains fresh information.  The newspaper has succeeded in talking to five victims of Fletcher and these have painted a consistent pattern of spiritually exploitative manipulative behaviour that seemed designed merely to satisfy the narcissistic and sexual needs of the abuser.  But, once again the story is remarkable, not just for these actions but for the way that countless other people have been involved as bystanders or protectors.  Back in October I wrote a blog piece http://survivingchurch.org/2019/10/03/the-jonathan-fletcher-story-continues/ on Fletcher commenting on the fact that no fresh news since the Telegraph stories of June had emerged into the public domain on the scandal.  That said to me that large numbers of people in the Iwerne/ReNew/Church Society group had been ordered to keep quiet on the topic.  Since that time the silence has begun to crack open and Fletcher’s old church, Emmanuel South Wimbledon, has agreed to commission a Review under the supervision of Justin Humphries and his independent organisation Thirtyone:eight.  That has now begun and there has been a call for victims to come forward to tell what they know.

There are a number of parallels between the Fletcher scandal and the Ball affair.  The Telegraph story suggested a possible link through membership of the same exclusive dining club, Nobody’s Friends.  While Fletcher was undoubtably a member, I do not believe anyone has claimed the same for Ball.  What is true is that powerful well-connected people linked to the two men have used their social power to defend and attempt to vindicate them.  The 2000 letters sent to Lambeth Palace in support of Ball were in some cases written by people who believed genuinely in his innocence.  Other individuals probably suspected that something was awry in his behaviour but in their minds the good name of the Church took precedence over the questions of right and wrong.  In the Fletcher affair something rather more blatant was going on.  As far as I can determine, almost everybody in the ReNew/REFORM/Iwerne network knew Fletcher and this is particularly true of the leaders in that group.  The leaders cannot have been ignorant of Fletcher’s style of ministry and his reputation for spiritually abusive behaviour. If they were surprised at the revelations and the 2017 withdrawal of his Permission to Officiate, why has there been no protestation to this effect?   It was also extraordinary that an individual with a very high profile should suddenly almost disappear from any mention on the net.  Someone with the authority to do so must have spent hours searching for online references to Fletcher and removing them one by one.   That piece of work has now been rendered void by the Telegraph reporting.  The publicity machines at both Church House and wherever the centre of ReNew is to be found will be working very hard this week-end to try and undo the enormous damage to the reputation of the Church that has been incurred by the Telegraph stories. 

I want to finish by briefly exploring a moral dilemma.  In Christian teaching an individual can commit a wrong action but there is always the possibility of receiving forgiveness after true repentance.   That is in essence what we understand from the New Testament.  A different situation arises to this when we encounter a bystander knowing about and to some extent covering up someone else’s evil activity.  When I know about the harmful behaviour of another person, how can I put things right?   The simple appeal to repentance does not seem to work.  I cannot repent of some else’s behaviour.  How can I do anything to put right the evil being done by a member of my own church tribe?  To separate myself from that action completely, I would need to abandon all that connects me with the network.  That is a difficult if not impossible task.  Members of the ReNew network who knew that Fletcher’s behaviour was spiritually and psychologically harmful were to a greater or lesser extent colluding in evil.  The bystander is always a sharer of guilt, particularly if harm is in any way intensified because of the inactivity.  Looking at the stories of Fletcher and John Smyth before him, the entire ReNew network leadership group seems to have been caught up in a kind of corporate guilt.  It is hard to claim that any of them are completely free from Fletcher’s wrongdoing.  They knew something and they simply did little or nothing with what they knew to protect the vulnerable.  The typical motivation for this kind of behaviour seems to be one of idolisation of a charismatic leader and the protection and defence of their tribe against other types of Christian who are regarded as threats to their vision of the faith.   How will the leadership of ReNew deal with the institutional guilt that is now seen to be pervasive within their constituency? The world is watching the conservative network of ReNew to see how it deals with this appalling legacy.  At the same time, it is looking to the wider Church of England to act positively and decisively in this matter but also over the disastrous legacy of Peter Ball and of those who enabled and protected him over decades.

The Christmas edition of the Church Times contained advertisements for no fewer than four suffragan bishops (Horsham, Lewes, Stafford and Sherwood).  In the past such advertisements were unheard of.  The idea of putting yourself forward for high office would have seemed like an act of hubris and that would immediately disqualify any applicant.  It was also believed that somewhere in the bowels of Lambeth Palace there were lists of likely clergy, suitable for preferment.  These had already been groomed for high office and were quietly waiting to be called.  Such candidates had probably attended one of the Windsor courses and an appointments secretary had been making discrete inquiries as to their suitability for promotion to episcopal purple.

The Church Times advertisements suggest that something may be changing within the system of appointments.  I may be wrong and the secret Lambeth list may still be alive and well.  But why advertise when the pool of all the good and suitable people is well known to those who are in charge?

I have, in what follows, a series of observations on this topic of appointments to high office in the Church of England.  This blog post consists of some speculative ideas about bishops based on observation of the Church of England over a fair number of years.  These observations do not of course have the same validity as properly conducted research.  I hope my reader will receive these speculations in the same spirit as they are shared. They may well be describing a problem that does not in fact exist.  But if there really is a problem of a shortage of suitable candidates for the post of bishop, we need to be aware of this and consider what the reasons for this might be.  I want to put forward two main ideas.  One is that the pool of qualified people from which to choose bishops has indeed shrunk.  The second possible factor is that the job of bishop is now far less attractive and rewarding than it used to be. 

Fifty years ago there were plenty of clergy in the Church to go round and even the tiniest of parishes would have numerous applicants when they became vacant.  I once heard a story from a priest, who later became an Archdeacon, who wanted to apply for a small parish in the Hereford diocese around 1962.  He never had a response to his letter and later he heard that there had been over 200 applications for the post.  The system of funding in the past meant that most clergy were trained residentially with the cost met by the Local Education Authority.  Because far more clergy started the training process in their twenties, there were many who were unmarried before training.  This meant that clergy training could be, for some, a more leisurely affair, with candidates often finding time to pursue special interests within the theological sphere.  I have referred, on this blog, to my own travels as a theological student in both Switzerland and Greece.    

After the boom years of the 50s and 60s the Church of England scored an own goal in its recruitment of ordinands.  The selection process began to discriminate in favour of older candidates, those with ‘life experience’.  The thinking behind this may have been sound but it deprived the church of many of its youthful candidates.  Many of those who were entering training were also likely to be married with children.  There was no incentive to lengthen the training beyond the absolute minimum.  At the same time, the Local Authorities started to drop their grants and this placed the financial burden for ordinands’ families on the Church itself.  Standards of training have been protected over the years but fewer ordinands have able to pursue the higher level of theological training that being a bishop might require.  It is always helpful for a bishop to have insight and expertise, not only in his own theological background tradition but also in the traditions of others who are Anglican in a different way.  That would be a theological task and it is hard to do this when money and time within the training process are in short supply.  There is also nothing in the current theological training process that would prepare a candidate to become a bishop.  Those who aspire to the distinct episcopal role should ideally be able to receive considerable support in terms of in-service training.  Perhaps there are some who are deemed episcopal material by putting over a display of solid competence and suitability for the role.  But, for whatever reason, the pool of theologically/administratively suitable candidates is likely to have shrunk considerably over the years. 

Moving from the thought that there are now fewer suitable candidates for the role of bishop, there is the other factor – a willingness to do the job.  Looking at the posts in the Church Times this week, I have come up with three possible reasons why there might now be an unwillingness to take on the role.  No doubt there could be others.

The first reason for being hesitant about becoming a bishop in the Church of England is the way that you are immediately thrust into being to all appearances a creature of a large institutional structure in a way that was not true before.  Many Vicars enjoy a large degree of freedom and independence.  If things are going well and the people follow your lead, it is a rewarding role.  As a bishop, particularly a Suffragan, your scope for free action seems often more limited.  You have a defined role within the structure and everything you say or do is subordinate to that role.  You become a company representative rather than a free agent.

The second reason for potential difficulties with the role of bishop is in managing the network of new relationships you find yourself in.  Within church life, it seems extremely common for individuals to have volatile interactions with those placed over them or alongside them.  Sometimes there are complete break-downs of communication which are never resolved until one party either leaves or dies.  This will be an especially serious matter if it happens among the hierarchy of the Church. Failures of communication can have the effect of paralysing the work of a Cathedral or even a diocese.  For every Lincoln Cathedral scenario in the 90s there must be other equally painful break-downs of relationship within the hierarchy of the Church.  To suggest that Christian leaders set an example of peaceful cooperation with one another is probably unrealistic to say the least.  What is true, as we have discovered in our examination of power struggles among senior churchmen and churchwomen, is that complex institutional structures like cathedrals or dioceses can often be unrewarding places to work.  The potential risk of division and conflict is high.  Where there is such conflict, the cost to be borne by those who work there is high in terms of compromised health and happiness.  

The third area of real anxiety is what I call the filing cabinet of past horrors.  The safeguarding issues of the past decade have begun to take the lid off secrets that apparently seem to lurk inside every diocesan office and bishop’s palace.  The Archbishop of York designate will have heard about files that disappeared in the ‘flood’ of 2015.  He may choose to leave such files buried or to seek them out.  Safeguarding is the single word that has done much to take the shine off every bishop’s role since around 2015.  Computers and filing cabinets containing information that most normal people would simply not want to face must now haunt every bishop in the Church.  What was formerly someone else’s responsibility now is suddenly yours.  Within these files are pressing pastoral issues, financial demands and the simple requirement to do the right thing at the level of humanity.  The latest revelations of the past week connected with ‘Safe Spaces’ and the apparent wastage of considerable sums of money designated for survivors, is yet another issue to keep some bishops awake at night.  What normal person would want to get involved with such responsibilities, ones that touch the happiness and well-being of real people including themselves?

The advertising of four bishop’s posts at once may have a perfectly innocent explanation but it may represent a shift in the Church for the reasons I have been exploring.  The great illness of society from which the Church is not exempt, is stress.  Stress of relationships and dealing with issues of the past safeguarding horrors are clearly among the possible reasons for the Church of England to have to search beyond the lists of safe candidates who have been groomed for preferment over the decades.

The announcement that Stephen Cottrell is to be the next Archbishop of York has been met with almost universal acclamation.  Here is an emotionally literate bishop with a passion for mission and a good brain.  What could there be not to be liked?  Then we have the almost immediate reaction to his appointment coming from a conservative group known as Christian Concern and its spokesman, Andrea Minichiello Williams.  She protests at the appointment because the Bishop, in his current post as Bishop of Chelmsford, had been drawn into the case of a transgender child at a church school.  The attempts to support the child, who may possibly undergo treatment for a sex reassignment, led to the local Vicar, John Parker, resigning his post as a school governor and as Incumbent.  It was claimed that the Diocese and Bishop Cottrell had previously told this Vicar that his ‘biblical views on sexuality were not welcome in the Church of England and that he could leave’.   This account of what passed between Bishop and the Vicar is a matter of dispute.   On the face of it, the use of such words by a bishop does seem somewhat unlikely. 

As I began to think my way through this very untidy situation, I asked myself what would have been my own reaction as a Vicar.  I realised, somewhat thankfully, that a situation like this had never come near to my attention.  The open discussion of transgender issue seems to be a new moral topic for the church to face.  I then thought back 50 years to ethics lectures at college and the way we were introduced to various theories of ethical reasoning.  The subject was never one of my strongest areas of study and, in the General Ordination Exam, I only received a bare pass.  My understanding of ethics has of course grown since then.  One of the main insights that I have since acquired is the realisation that ethical dilemmas seldom, if ever, result in a clear-cut resolution.  Over my years of ‘doing’ ethics in the parish, the best I have been able to achieve is to have accompanied someone else as they attempted to work through and resolve an ethical dilemma.  It was never a matter of applying the ‘the clear teaching of Scripture’.   At best it was looking at numerous potential outcomes and trying to discern what was the most loving and productive way forward.  Ethical reasoning for me and, I suspect, for most clergy is almost never a matter of straight application of texts or long established norms.  If it were, I imagine that the life of clergy (and social workers) would be so much easier.

The difference that exists between me and conservative evangelical ethicists, like Andrea Williams, is to be found in this divergence in the way we do our moral reasoning.  I am acutely aware of the way that all moral decisions take place within a setting or a context.   Unalterable principles like the indissolubility of marriage or the fixity of gender identity are fine when printed in text books.  Somehow the moment these unbreakable principles leave the text book (or the pages of Scripture), they become extremely difficult to apply.  There are just so many variables in every situation to be taken account of.  Ethical reasoning takes enormous wisdom and insight together with compassion for real people and their situations.  The last thing that someone wants to hear is an inflexible declaration of moral certainty.  There are few people or situations that welcome the approach that says: ‘This is what you must do, it is God’s will and there is no room for disagreement or even discussion.’

The fact that ‘clear biblical teaching’ is so difficult to apply in practice has led me to ask where it is able to be enforced consistently.  The answer has to be that the only people who can readily hear uncompromising inflexible moral teaching are those who are already part of the same tribe as the moral enforcer.  Conservative groups, in other words, can enforce their uncompromising teaching on those who have surrendered decision making on all things religious to the leaders.  While there may well be many other Christians outside these conservative groups who have accepted the principle that to be Christian is to ‘hate gays’, it is likely that the great majority of such people have never knowingly met a homosexual or got close to them at any rate.  Their principled stand has come about, not through wrestling with the moral issue but adopting a particular tribal label which has given them a sense of belonging.  In a dramatic reversal of the words of scripture, it could be claimed that for many, Christians are known for the fact that they hate or distance themselves from the right groups of people.

All in all, I find myself having to declare that I sense a sizeable chasm between the position I hold and that of Andrea Williams.  If biblical principles really could be applied seamlessly to complex moral problems, then this would be very convenient.   It would save a lot of time because it would sidestep all the complex and nuanced moral reasoning that seems to belong to every ethical problem.  When we deal with actual breathing transgender or same-sex attracted people, we find that is that there are a myriad of details of fact and science to be faced before ethical reasoning can even begin.  The science part is also important since questions of normal and abnormal cannot just be left to our feelings about such matters.  My reluctance ever to use words like deviant or abnormal comes from a variety of reasons.   While not claiming to be in any sense an expert in ethics or moral philosophy, something seems very wrong when opinions are offered by Andrea Williams and John Parker which use bible texts as tools to undermine the reflections of scientists and philosophers alike.  Quoting scripture as a way of cutting through incredibly complex scientific/moral issues does not appear to lead to any of the insights we need to hear in the 21^st century.  The victims of bullying, who already suffer because of their possibly unconventional life-styles, deserve something far more generous from Christians.  Jesus after all was one who went out of his way to reach the outcasts and the sinners.  Should hatred be what his followers are heard to say?

For many Christians, the attempt to root all Christian ethical behaviour in relevant scriptural verses may seem a commendable enterprise.  But for others, particularly those who live life-styles that challenge the norm, these same verses from the Bible add to the burdens that they already have to carry.  Should Christians ever read the Bible and use select passages from it in a way that harasses and bullies people.  Battering people with texts is not a helpful approach; indeed it is completely contrary to the spirit of acceptance and love shown by Jesus.  Stephen Cottrell, the Archbishop designate, is to be commended because his attitude and approach allows people of all situations not only to exist but to flourish in the church.  This flourishing is what he believes to be God’s will.  This blog readily accepts that disagreements about ethical issues among Christians are going to be inevitable.  Such disagreements might even be welcome if they force everyone to think deeply and reason carefully about matters of faith and belief.  They become problematic when they lead disputants into words of bitter hatred and contempt for one another.  The spiteful homophobic letters sent to Richard Coles on the death of his partner David have cast shame on the whole body of Christians.  They contain what one tweeter described as ‘diseased theology’, a theology that easily infects others.  Can ethical convictions ever justify such terrible sentiments towards another Christian believer?  We end by quoting the paraphrase from St John’s gospel, the passage that simply says ‘by this shall all know that you are my disciples if you have love one for another’.

Among the variety of unhelpful things that children of my generation were told by well-meaning adults was one very harmful rhyme: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me’.  There is of course a certain level of truth in this rhyme but equally, the downplaying of the power of words to hurt and harm was undoubtedly crass and insensitive to say the least.  Many children have come to believe that there is something wrong with them when they experience acute pain because of words directed maliciously against them.  Some of this shame and pain is carried into their adult experience.  I do not need to spell all the different permutations of bullying and slander that can do so much to make life a misery for anyone so targeted.

Most of us recognise that words have the ability to be extremely powerful things.  The right word can do an enormous amount to cheer a depressed spirit just as the thoughtless word can put someone down.  All of us look back to our failures to use words as well as we could.  Perhaps our early efforts to use words better might have been helped by not having had to encounter at an early age the dreadful rhyme I mentioned above. 

If we want support for the idea that words should be treated with extreme care and respect, we need go no further than considering how words are understood in Scripture.  One year in Lent, while still in my parish, I gave a whole evening presentation about the word ‘word’ as it is used in the Bible.  I began my piece by pointing out that the Hebrew word ‘dabar’ contains far more than the act of speaking as we understand it.  To understand this Hebrew word we have to add to the idea of speech the notion of ‘creative power’.   Although the Genesis account describes creation as the result of speech, it only when we get to the Psalms that we begin to get a real feel for what the Hebrew writers think about the power of words.   This is of course especially true when referring to what proceeds from the mouth of God.  ‘By the word (dabar) of the Lord were the heavens made’.  ‘The Lord spake and it was done, he commanded and they were created.’  Another very vivid picture is given us as we read the following passage from Isaiah 55.11.   ‘The word will not return to me empty until it has accomplished all that I have commanded it to do.’  It is easy to miss the full impact of such passages until we have absorbed the Hebrew perspective on words and their potential.  Words are in this setting are instruments of real and lasting power.  When God speaks things happen.   Sometimes human individuals, like prophets, are given God’s words to speak.  Once again there will be an understanding of how much there is active power in operation.  Even when mere human beings like ourselves use words, this Hebrew understanding of their potential to exercise real power is never far away.  

It is against this background of understanding a little of Old Testament assumptions about the meaning of ‘word’ that we can understand better the first verses of St John’s gospel which are always read at Christmas.   The reader at the Nine Lessons and Carols often introduces this reading with the words ‘St John reveals the mystery of the Incarnation’.   I am not sure how many people in fact get the point of the reading with its evocation of the creation story and its distinctive understanding of the meaning of ‘word’.  To talk about the primordial reality as a word seems an odd thing to say on the face of it.  But little by little we come to understand that what is being shared is the breath-taking claim that an eternal God is communicating with and reaching out to his creation through his word.  Word is not speech in a human sense; rather it is an extraordinary moving out from the divine mystery to touch and communicate with the world through the life, speech and actions of Jesus.   The word, the self-expression of the inner being of God, became flesh and dwelt among us.

In this reflection, I am hoping to encourage a reader to learn to use and respect words better.  They are potentially, as we have said, agents of real power.  They can hurt but they can also build up and encourage.  When we use words flippantly, as we often do, we tell ourselves that we are speaking in jest.  This jesting may be, if we are self-critical, an attempt to trivialise words and treat them as cheap.  I would like to think that Christians never think of words as having little value.  So much can be achieved or possibly undermined by the way we use words. We have a biblical duty to think of them as infinitely precious, to be used as far as possible for good.  I am always convicted by the passage of the Epistle of James about the importance of ‘bridling the tongue’.  While I stand accused at a being a failure in this area, I find I can be helped by making a connection with all that the Old Testament says about the Word of God.  If God creates, communicates and reaches out with his Word, does he not call us to do the same?  Our words do not of course function like the Divine Word but they do potentially have some things in common.  The words we utter are capable of becoming a focus of transforming power.  When used properly they can create, encourage and build up others.  When they succeed in doing this, they distantly evoke the divine action of creation itself.  What greater challenge or calling could we have than this? 

Most of us why try to practise the Christian faith are aware of forces within us that pull in opposite directions.  We could liken our Christian experience to being a bit like the ‘push me pull you’ animal in the Dr Doolittle stories.  One such pressure is a strong attraction to the past while simultaneously knowing that we have to engage with the present and the future.  Some traditions and denominations make it a mark of their identity to refuse to engage with the present.  Examples come to mind of the strong supporters of the Latin Mass or the preacher who insists on tackling themes and debates that have not made a lot of sense since the 16^th century.  The present/past tension is played out weekly in the mundane job of choosing hymns.   Everyone who is responsible for this task knows the problem of keeping a balance between old and the new.   The normal compromise, which is to choose music from every style, may cover up the cracks of this tension, but it does not really solve the dilemma of a church, one that is required to look simultaneously to the present, past and future.

Another ‘push me pull you’ factor for the conscientious Christian is the tension between reassurance and challenge.  Both the experience of feeling ‘safe’ within the Church and the opposite feeling of being challenged to take risks for God can be read out of Scripture.   The Bible contains many verses which speak of refuge and safety.  God is the one who feeds the hungry, comforts the sad and binds up the broken.  The gospels also contain those memorable words of Jesus. ‘Come unto me all you that are heavy laden and I will give you rest.’

Many Christians would like to remain at the comfort end of things and receive only these messages of reassurance.  Sermons which emphasise constantly the message of salvation, both as a present reality and a future promise, will always be popular.  The idea of being safe evokes many things but it may also carry an echo of being rescued by a parent from a situation of perceived danger.  The experience of being gathered up into a parent’s arms and removed from something frightening is probably a common memory imprinted on most of us.  The idea of being kept safe and the teaching about salvation will, no doubt, evoke such primal memories of rescue and safety.  One might go further and say that without such memories, the language of ‘being saved’ would have little meaning at an emotional level.

The challenge part of the Christian faith taps into a different stage of our growing up.  It evokes the time in our lives when we were convinced that we were sufficiently mature to go out on our own.  We no longer needed to be taken everywhere by a parent.  We were able to negotiate the dangers of the street and other children by ourselves without parental help.  The transition from being kept safe to taking risks is particularly associated with the teenage years.  The wisdom of parenthood is knowing the right moment to allow the child to tackle each set of new challenges alone.  Even when the parent gets it right it is likely that there will still have been disagreement and conflict with the child.  It is hard to imagine that there will ever be complete unanimity between parent and child on this issue.  Somehow or other the growing child enters the adventure of doing things on their own, taking risks in the journey of life.  This sense of adventure, the overcoming of barriers of fear and uncertainty is an important stage.  The memory of it enables us to take seriously the challenges that are implicit in the Christian faith.

I recall the sermons I have preached on the words of Jesus ‘Launch out into the deep and there cast your nets’. This passage can be read as a straight invitation to move forward from the nursery slopes of being ‘safe’ to a discovery that the Christian faith is also all about adventure.    Then there is the passage which speaks about meeting Christ in the hungry, the imprisoned, the naked and the thirsty.  These passages remind us that the challenge of faith is not only about reassurance and comfort, it is about accepting risk, danger, newness and challenge.  The ‘safe’ part of the faith draws on memories of infancy; the challenge part of faith draws on the memories of the teenage years and later.

These push me pull you aspects of Christianity need to be held in tension and reconciled, both within the individual Christian and in a congregation.  A church which preaches only one part of this equation is always going to be lop-sided.  This would also be true of an adult whose preparation for adulthood had consisted only of the memories of being kept safe by parents.  Hopefully, the creative tension of wanting to go it alone and the arguments with parents about the implications of this, are also part of what we take into adulthood.  Being adult is about the acceptance and resolution of conflict as much as it is about learning to be loved and nurtured.   

Lop-sided and unbalanced is an accusation that can be made of many churches that emphasise ‘salvation’ above any other teaching.  Such a church will not be wrong in one sense.  What they teach is clearly biblical.  But there is still error present because a needed balance to this approach is not being presented alongside this classic teaching.   We all need to hear the side of Christianity which challenges religious complacency.  One area of complacency, which we refer to constantly on this blog, is indifference to suffering and abuse experienced in the Church itself.  Large parts of the church are very successful at shutting out the stories of those who have suffered in this way.  Different sets of priorities are put forward so that the uncomfortable parts of Christian responsibility do not have to be faced.  There is probably no church that succeeds in finding exactly the level of balance that I believe the Christian faith calls for.  I offer this notion of balance, not because I think I have found it, but because I believe we should all be striving to reach it both within our personal Christian journey and in the lives of our congregations.

Many liberal Christian bodies are under attack from conservative groups because they do not teach the ‘truth’ according to their accusers.  The implication of this challenge from conservatives who question the ‘orthodoxy’ of others, is that it is possible to encapsulate ‘truth’ in a series of precise verbal formulae.  These seem very much to focus on the notion of salvation.  Anyone failing the test of repeating the correct words is deemed to be ‘unsound’ or worse, destined for hell.  My response to this kind of attack is to ask a quite different question.   Does the accusing Church as well as the Church under attack preserve balance, a balance here between ‘salvation’ and service of others?  Are the Christians in your Church taught, as a matter of high priority, to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and visit prisoners?  Are these actions, commanded by Christ himself, just as important as believing a list of statements prepared by a small group. Those who decide on what is orthodox belief may simply be a cluster of leaders who happen to be in charge at a particular moment in history. The idea that their version and articulation of saving truth has to be considered universal in scope, applying to every culture and language for ever, seems impertinent to say the least. We need to rediscover within all the churches generous engagement with those who differ from us as well those whose position represents a balancing up of the beliefs we hold with great conviction. Truth is seldom an ‘either-or’ scenario. It is is most likely to be found as a ‘both-and’ and requires from us the gift of generosity and fresh imagination to embrace it in this form.

There have been many mentions recently on the blog and elsewhere about the influence of English ‘public schools’ on the Church and the nation.  These schools emerged in the 19^th century for the purpose of producing a class of leaders able to run the British Empire.  By charging fees, which exceed the annual salary of most working people, these schools have now become the abode of the wealthy and privileged.  Their influence on the whole of British society remains powerful through their alumni occupying important roles in church and state.  There is a great deal to be said about this influence for good and for ill in British society.  What follows is a personal reflection based on my experience of a school run as a public school even though half the boys were there on foundationships which paid most of the fees.  I wrote these words several months ago and perhaps they provide an indirect commentary on the imminent General Election as well as the new revelations about Iwerne camps.

Among the many words that have been written about the system of English public schools, some comment has been made about the emotional health of boys who leave their parents at a young age to prepare to go through this system of education.  The claim made by various commentators, especially one in a book by Nick Duffell called Wounded Leaders, is that emotional damage is likely common among many former boarding school pupils.  Being away at school, apart from their parents, is bound to affect children in some way at the level of their emotions.  Even though weekly boarding has alleviated the pain suffered by many boys going through this system, many ex-pupils, now mature adults, still carry the pain that their schools have inflicted on them in the past.  Nick Duffell claims that many ex-public-school boys have got through the system by developing a kind of ‘survival personality’.  This coping mechanism allowed them mostly to succeed in terms of passing exams and obtaining good jobs.  They now, however, allegedly often lack the full range of emotional responses that would enable them to function well in making relationships and enjoying the colour and depth of the feeling world.   Emotional intelligence, as it is now called, enables the individual to feel the emotional temperature of situations.  It enables also an appreciation of other people’s needs, in particular the ability to understand the power of community.  An emotionally illiterate person will lack these abilities.  He or she will function far better at promoting self-interest than in dealing with others.  In short the survival personality which has been named as a feature of public-school ‘survivors’ is quite close to what is described as the narcissistic personality.

The speculations in the Press about the ability or not of Boris Johnson to be a good leader, while carrying the wounds of a boarding school past, can be left for now to one side.  I do in fact have much sympathy with the view that says he is more style than substance.  Going further than this is not an immediate part of this blog’s concerns.  What I can bring to bear in this discussion is my own experience at a minor public school aided by some written reflections I made at the time about my experiences soon after leaving the school.

 My attendance at three boarding schools between the ages of 7 ½ and 18 naturally left its mark on me.  I observed and, to some extent, suffered many of the things being discussed today in the writing about Boris Johnson and other ex-public-school leaders, including our Archbishop of Canterbury.  The ‘survival mode’ that is spoken about in current discussions on the topic is not an expression that I would have used to talk about my experience.  I did however notice the chronic lack of privacy in these institutions in every sense of the word.  A lack of personal space meant that it was hard to explore and become aware of a personal life.  Emotion and feeling did not play much part in the over-organised daily routine.    Some people have suggested that these institutions formed a good preparation for prison-life, thanks to the highly organised routine and the constant requirement for instant obedience to masters and more senior boys.  Of course, we trust that things have moved on in 60 years.  But I suspect that there will still be many of the same fundamental realities that were around in the early 60s.

One of the main things I remember vividly from my time at school were the value systems in operation.  The first seemed to centre around sport.  To achieve at sport was to achieve a recognisable status within the system.  Thus, one’s place in the pecking order was physically articulated by the stripes on your tie or the colour of your blazer.  Achieving at sport likely also elevated you, eventually, to a second valued rank, the status of prefect.  Once again, your prefect status was marked by special privileges involved through the fagging system or access to parts of the school from which everyone else was banned.  Both forms of achievement were deemed important in the formation of a cadre of leaders which many boys were expected to join after leaving school.   I am pleased to say that, in spite of the assumptions about the supreme importance of sport and the leadership training that the role of prefect was supposed to provide, I early on spotted how empty these artificial hierarchies were.  Strutting around constantly reminding the world that you were good at sport seemed ultimately rather futile and pretentious.  I early on became proud of my stubbornly black tie.  Boys who rose to the top of the public-school hierarchies were of course strong on self-confidence and assertive power but they were weak in other areas.  This was especially true of their emotional life and what we broadly describe as sensitivity.  To summarise in another way, the chief custodians of public-school ‘values’ seemed the shallowest in terms of an aesthetic/spiritual dimension.  From a personal point of view my complete opting out of the attempt to climb the hierarchies valued by the system meant that I was more easily able to preserve my emotional life and the life of the spirit.  When I speak about this emotional life, it included for me the cultivation of aesthetic experience. In my case this was activated through the medium of music and the visual arts. When I wrote a reflection on my school days while still at university, I came to realise that through aesthetic experience I had held on to an incredibly precious part of life.  I had retained the ability to feel.  I then called this (after John McMurray, the philosopher) the education of the emotions.  I now wonder whether this is something similar to the emotional intelligence spoken about today.

Throughout my ministry as a clergyman I have valued this survival of my early emotional/spiritual life even though the culture of my school had done precious little to encourage it.  Today I suspect that elitist leadership models, based on self-confidence and achievements on the sports field, are still alive and well.  Leadership and self-confidence are fine as far they go but if such values are linked to a shallow emotional life then they become problematic.  Failures of empathy among our leaders in church and state will always be a serious draw-back.     The efficient management techniques, so highly valued today, seem to emerge from the traditional public-school leadership traditions.   But we are also witnessing, alongside the emphasis on efficient management in our church, a toleration of horrific bullying and the humiliation of abuse survivors by some of our bishops.  Because bullying is so antithetical to Christian values, we might be surprised to hear of bishops tolerating the cruel methods of ‘reputation management’ companies.  But then then we have to remember that the public-school values which protect that system at all costs, discard, when necessary, feelings, emotion and any trace of empathy.  Of course, there are individual bishops who buck this trend, but life is made difficult for them if this elitist management style has penetrated the culture of the upper ranks of the church.   There is of course a story to be told about the way a hard Calvinism taught at Iwerne camps and reflecting the elitism of public schools, has penetrated the thinking and attitudes of many who operate at the very senior level.  If I am right, elitist and insensitive styles of management have made their home in the Church of England.   It is up to the rest of us who recognise cruelty and injustice, to go on opposing the bullying that continues to mark and harm the courageous survivors of past church abuse. 

By Kate

As editor of the blog, Surviving Church, I hear a number of stories from readers about their own experiences of power abuse in the context of a Church.  The story that follows is illustrative of bullying and power abuse within one particular culture, the ReNew constituency.  Effective means of resolving injustices in that culture seem here to be lacking.  It should be of concern to the entire Church of England leadership that episcopal oversight for the conservative wing in this case appears to be failing, causing considerable suffering to the writer and her family. From the outside we seem to be observing the operation of a tight inward-looking and unaccountable clique.

Discussion with ministers and experts in abuse have helped me see that over the past 3 years I and my husband have been the victims of harassment and bullying. The bullying began with a group of disgruntled parishioners and expanded to become a prolonged experience of bullying at the hands of the conservative evangelical constituency we have been a part of since the 1980’s. My husband was on Iwerne in the 80s, and I attended in early 2000s.

Though it is very painful to continue to write and think and pray about our experience of bullying – we have done little else recently – I believe light must be shone on the terribly damaging abuses that leaders in the ReNew constituency have engaged in, and sought to hush up. We have tried many avenues of making the situation good, but have been either rebuffed, or challenged to submit to processes which experts warn us would be traumatising. All that is left now is to share something of our story in the hope that others may be alert to the dangers of bullying in our church culture, and perhaps, that those who have acted shamefully will pause and seek the help they need.

The bullying we experienced forced my husband out of his job as a parish minister, and inflicted serious health and stress upon our family. The diocese got involved with a case of bullying from disgruntled parishioners towards us, and mishandled our situation in serious ways. They misdiagnosed it as a relational dispute and later circulated false information. Eventually they rescinded false statements they had made.

Bishop Rod Thomas is looked to by our constituency as one of our key leaders. It is now clear that he himself behaved in a terrible way towards us, with little respect for normal expectations of a Church of England bishop. Rod’s pastoral advisor – Rev David Banting – reassured one of the people bullying us out of our job, that the diocese would remove us soon. This caused further stress.

A good deal of the subsequent bullying from other ReNew leaders was aimed at covering up how much harm he had caused, and the degree to which he was influenced by Jonathan Fletcher and colluded with Church Society, to bully and silence us.

While we were away on holiday the Archdeacon called a PCC meeting, which we agreed to him holding in our absence. He told us he would do this to explain to people that they should be reasonable in how they treated their minister. He organised a further PCC meeting, and invited Bishop Rod to that. The first we knew of this was from Jonathan Fletcher’s sister (then a PCC member). Rod stayed over with Jonathan’s sister when he attended that PCC meeting. It was only later we realised that Jonathan’s sister was one of the group in the church seeking to bully us into leaving the parish. For many years Rod has been a member of Jonathan’s ‘preaching group’ – we see now he was far from independent from Jonathan’s influence.

Eventually we discovered that Bishop Rod misinformed the diocese about our situation. That led the diocese to recording false claims on my husband’s file. This made it impossible for new jobs to be secured. When we discovered this and spoke to the diocese, we were able to challenge Rod’s false accusations. It took time but we got the false statements removed. We realised that in effect Bishop Rod had sided with the group of bullies in the parish. His concern appeared to be keeping on good terms with them so that he could maintain influence in the church, after my husband was forced out. 

We were traumatised by Bishop Rod’s bullying and deceptive behaviour. We felt we should talk with him about it – but that did not lead to anything fruitful. We tried raising it with Rev. Simon Austen – a member of Rod’s advisory group – but he was busy managing the John Smyth abuse case, as chairman of Titus Trust. We tried raising it with Church Society. They are a patron of our parish and Rod is their president. Council members were unclear who to talk to – we tried numbers of them. That led to conversations where they berated us for taking up their time, used scripture to silence us, and passed us round one another. Even though Lee Gatiss is a safeguarding officer, when we managed to get him to talk on the phone, he was threatening, aggressive, and told us off for delaying his dinner.

William Taylor phoned and warned us that he and the constituency may not help us at all. He told me that Jonathan Fletcher had holidayed with him and they had discussed our situation. William wanted to check that we would not take formal action against Rod for his behaviour. Jonathan Fletcher is a powerful influence in our constituency. In letters and phone calls, Jonathan intimated that we were to blame, for what independent observers could see was harassment and bullying. 

I talked with Rev Dick Farr. He is chair of Church Society patronage board and the ReNew planning group. I had two telephone conversations with Dick. He said he wanted to speak to my husband, not me. When I asked why, he explained, ‘Because I’m a complementarian.’ He raised his voice, kept talking over me, and minimised the abuse we suffered. He was sarcastic and eventually slammed the phone down. 

We tried discussing the problems Bishop Rod had caused, with the above and others – including Rev Mark Burkill and Rev Paul Darlington. They tried to not let us know, but it became clear that while we were raising concerns about Bishop Rod, they were all meeting with Bishop Rod to discuss how to handle the situation. We eventually found out that five people met with Rod: Dick Farr, William Taylor, Paul Darlington, Lee Gatiss, and Mark Burkill. They knew this was wrong as they were very reluctant to let us know. It is a well worn principle that when cases of abuse are raised about a minister or bishop, those who would seek to bring righteousness out of the situation should not go and meet with the accused, and agree a managed way forward.

Rev Dick Farr was one of the most aggressive and unkind of the Church Society leaders we tried to get help from. So when we found he had been invited to speak at the Derby Bible Conference, which we would have attended, we raised the story of our abuse and his behaviour, with the (mostly Independent) church ministers, organising it. We shared the details of our story in the hope that they could seek an appropriate forum for us to discuss with Dick Farr how to rectify our experiences of bullying. Their rebuff was: 

‘Thank you for raising your concerns with regards to the invitation by Derby Bible Week to Dick Farr to speak in April 2020, and for sending through all the supporting information.

After very careful, and prayerful, consideration at our committee meeting this morning, we have decided to stand by our invitation to Dick to speak at our event.

Whilst we realise that this is not the decision you were looking for, this decision was not taken lightly and was the unanimous view of our committee.

This decision is not subject to appeal and we feel that it would not be profitable to enter into any further discussion on the matter.

Wishing you God’s richest blessing.’

Our experiences show how conservative leaders collude to protect a favoured leader such as Bishop Rod Thomas, and put the wishes of patrons such as Jonathan Fletcher before righteousness. Change is needed in the culture. No one of the leaders who bullied us can take full responsibility for the bullying – it has been a pattern of group think and mobbing. That does not mean that individuals should not take steps to reflect, and pursue change. We hope change will come. If not, we pray our story can help others struggling with the kind of abuse we experienced.

A fuller account of our story is given in the letter we wrote to the Derby Bible Conference: 

Charles Foster’s article of last week on the topic of Iwerne on this blog has had, we hope, a wide-spread impact.  Its influence has extended to the States where it was featured on the conservative blog, Anglicans Ink.  I would like to think that one comment on Twitter from a member of the Church of England General Synod, Sue Booys, is shared by others.  She stated in her comment the following: ‘Excellent article, much to ponder and a really helpful insight into past questions about something I was always vaguely aware of, rather anxious about and couldn’t understand. ‘

This comment could of course be attached to any of several themes in the article.  Rather than speculate about which idea or theme created insight from the article for Sue, I want to share something of what the article did for my thinking.  I want to consider what I think about the role of women in the church and how their presence or absence within the institution has created some of the problems that the Church now faces. 

In his article, Foster described to us in summary the origins of the Iwerne camps.  They were the brain child of E.J.H.Nash (Bash) in the 1930s.  Bash had the idea of bringing together young men from top public schools so that they could be won for Christ.  Then, through their potential leadership in British society, the whole population could be also brought to the Christian faith.  Foster drew attention to the exclusivity of these camps.  Bash’s invitation to attend was extended only to certain elite schools representing only the male sex.  In this way he was inevitably promoting a version of Christianity which was heavily imbued with the culture of the all-male Public School.  The decade when Bash began his work was a very different one from today.  Political thinking was to a considerable degree polarised into two camps.  In Britain there were many who were fascinated by the Stalinist attempt to build up the Soviet Union while others were attracted to the fascist states of Europe.  The word fascism did not have such heavily negative connotations before the war.  The word implied order and obedience to a leader, together with a readiness to surrender freedoms in order to defeat what was seen to be the anarchy of democracy.  Fascist leaders could and did appeal to many among the aristocratic classes in this country.  These were the same social groups that were well represented in the early Iwerne camps.

The Iwerne model of training boys for future Christian leadership took, we would suggest, at least some of its inspiration from the contemporary emergence of Hitler Youth and German fascism.  The same quasi-military structures present in Italy and Germany, the emphasis on obedience as well as a clear ideology beyond discussion – these were all present.  Militarism is of course a solely male phenomenon.  Other typically male attitudes were found in the camps, just as they existed in the schools the boy campers came from.  The most obvious aspect of both schools and camps was the total absence of the female sex.  Even if the male exclusivity at the camps is no longer in operation, the current generation of ex-Iwerne Christian leaders have all been deeply imbued this all-male culture.  This is the one that Foster claims has led in many cases to severe emotional impoverishment and a failure to flourish as full human beings.

How does the presence of women change things within institutions like the Church?  The question perhaps might be asked in a different way.  What happens to gatherings of men when women are excluded?  No doubt there are many answers to this question and my female readers will want to add their own insights.  Speaking from my own limited experience of a succession of male only environments, I can point to the way that power games are common, with some strong ‘alpha-males’ striving to be dominant over all the others.  Hierarchies are quickly established.  The weak are either pushed to the bottom of the pile or excluded altogether.  These are not inevitable occurrences but the typical desire among many males is to control others rather than be controlled themselves.  Of the many all-male cultures that exist right across the world, we might claim that the experience of a British all-male public school is fairly archetypal.  To some extent the struggle for dominance and power is acted out through prowess on the sports field and by adopting leadership roles as prefects.  When women come to be added into the mix, it is far more difficult for this hyper-competitive culture to remain intact.  Foster’s description from the 80s of young women in Laura Ashley dresses on the edge of the camps represented the old subservient picture of women to men.  Their role was to be noticed by one of the campers and perhaps help to form a new dynasty of future campers.  This was a vivid picture.  Clearly at that time these women were not expected to have any real influence in this male testosterone driven world of Godly power that existed among these bands of Christian warriors.

Without wanting to indulge in generalisations about male/female roles, I feel that it is correct to say that things will always be distinctly different when women are present within an institution.  The hierarchical assumptions of male superiority no longer remain unchallenged.  A common feminine instinct to care for and notice the under-dog also comes into play.  Women find it much more difficult to abandon people and write them off.  We speak about the female instinct to mother and protect the weak.  If such an instinct is indeed a normal quality of the female sex, then the ruthlessness and power competition of men-only environments is going to be softened at the very least when women are present in any numbers.

The situation today is that many of the Church cultures or institutions that once created damage and stunted emotional growth among Christian leaders may now belong to the past.  Women are now allowed to soften and mitigate the worst effects of the Nash/Fascist/Right-wing cultures that Foster (and many others) knew.   We can look forward, eventually, to a new more compassionate rounded generation of Church leaders.  But, for the time being, the die-hards in the Church who embody reactionary values are still with us, exercising considerable influence in the Church.   The problem can only really end when such attitudes are identified and expelled or, more likely when they disappear because those who hold have them simply retired or died.  Back in the 19^th century it was said that medicine could only advance when the power brokers who decided what was ‘correct’ treatment had literally died and quitted the scene.  There was no protocol for arguing the case for a new treatment because that was not the way the institution worked.  The adage, which can apply to any institution, says quite simply ‘while there is death, there is hope’. 

Those of us who identify with the suffering of survivors of Church sexual and spiritual abuse are also looking for a revolution of attitudes among those who hold power in the Church.  It will come in the end because leadership will reflect eventually the male/female wholeness. This wholeness turns its back on the male only value systems that have infected and damaged the whole Church for so long. 

There are many discussions between people that are rendered difficult or even impossible because each side understands particular words differently.  When words which have contentious backgrounds come into a conversation, there is massive scope for non-communication.  Recently someone used the word ‘cult’ in an online comment on this blog.  The one thing wrong with using a word like this is that its use tends to foster misunderstandings.  For this reason, I am reluctant to use it except when I go the annual conference of cultic specialists, the organisation known as the International Cultic Studies Association (ICSA).  There are of course numerous other words in the area of theology and religious thinking that have the same capacity for meaning different things to different people.   A recent topical example is the word ‘review’ when used by an institutional body, like the Church, to describe an attempt to hold an examination of past (mis)conduct with the express aim of learning from what went wrong.

In the Church Times today (Friday) there is a story about the review of the case of Matt Ineson and his abuser, the late Trevor Devamanikkam.  The National Safeguarding Team (NST) has commissioned Jane Humphries to carry out a ‘lessons-learnt’ review of the case.   The basic facts of the original case are not disputed but what will be under examination are the responses of senior church people to Matt’s attempts to disclose to them what had happened to him.  These disclosures were made over a period of several years.  Matt has named four bishops, including the current Archbishop of York, as having been informed of the case by him personally.  The review is thus being asked to consider some information which could potentially prove embarrassing to the bishops concerned.  Up till now, despite attempts by Matt to establish accountability over the way his case was handled, there have been no apologies from the Church.  In an excruciating encounter at the IICSA hearings, Justin Welby failed to offer any kind of apology to Matt even though he was sitting only a few feet away.  No doubt, issues of legal liability were uppermost in the mind of the lawyers advising the Archbishop.  It was, nevertheless, a shameful incident in the history of church safeguarding and its failures.

Matt is, according to the Church Times story, refusing to cooperate with this current review.  He asks the valid and so-far unanswered question.  How can you trust a review which is set up by the organisation that is being accused of bad behaviour?  To quote his words: ‘The Church is steamrolling ahead, trying to control an investigation into themselves. This is open to corruption.  I would work 100 per cent with a genuinely independent review.  This is not it.  …. We have repeatedly asked the Church to have a totally independent review, which they have refused’.

Matt’s concerns about the independence of the Church review process are not unfounded.  One independent review did get conducted into an abuse case, the Elliot Review, but this was subsequently ignored and undermined.  The IICSA process uncovered some of the falsehoods used to question the Elliot Review but the damage had been done.  Although the review initially received the attention of Archbishop Welby himself, and a bishop was commissioned to implement the recommendations, there was a complete failure to do this and Elliot has been quietly dropped and ignored.  It is not surprising that the word ‘review’ when used by senior church people means something different from the meaning it has for the rest of us.

The BBC Sunday programme in August broadcast an interview with Kate Blackwell QC about what a properly conducted review should look like.   I took the trouble to have that interview transcribed and placed on this blog.  http://survivingchurch.org/2019/08/05/bbc-radio-4-sunday-programme/ . It seemed to set out so clearly the common-sense approach to what a review of a past abuse case might involve. Her clarity seemed to show up how extraordinarily amateur the Church’s approach to this issue appears to be.  Kate emphasised that the focus of any review must be the victim/survivor.  There can no question of institutions using such reviews to protect themselves.

Interestingly, across the world in Florida, an example of good practice has appeared this week.  http://anglican.ink/2019/11/27/independent-investigation-into-st-peters-anglican-cathedral/ An organisation called Godly Response to Abuse in a Christian Environment (GRACE) has been asked to investigate a Cathedral in Tallahassee within the fold of ACNA, the independent part of Anglican Church in North America.  The case concerned one Father Eric Dudley, the Dean of St Patrick’s Cathedral.  He was accused of grooming and molesting young men over a period of years.  The report has now been published and it seems a thorough piece of professional work.   A crucial detail of the investigation was that at the beginning, the ACNA bishop wanted to hold an internal inquiry.  Senior clergy in the diocese prevailed upon him to engage GRACE as they realised (like Matt) that organisations which investigate themselves are in danger of doing a less than fully competent job.  However good the reviewer is, the fact that they are employed by the organisation means that their true independence may be questioned.

GRACE interviewed fifty-one witnesses and reviewed countless documents and telephone records.  The story that emerged about Dudley’s behaviour was deeply disturbing to his flock, especially since a major part of the rationale of their breakaway status was the firm resistance to the LGTB cause.  Dudley chose lonely young men to abuse.  These could be manipulated and sucked into a relationship over a period.  The victims all expressed their gratitude for the professionalism of GRACE.  One of the painful experiences for victims within the whole process was the way that some, early on in the process, had received ‘godly admonitions’ for coming forward to report their abuse.  In other words, the Church left to itself had tried to shut the victims up for trying to speak out.  The charismatic hold, as we would describe it, had meant that, at the beginning, people in the congregation had not wanted to hear any accusations against their Dean.

There is a great deal that cannot be mentioned in my perusing of this American document.  The fact of its existence and the way that it provides detailed examples of good practice means that it should be part of the tool-chest of every safeguarding professional in this country.  We need increased professionalism in this area.  There is too much at present that seems like individuals making up good practice as they go along.   Matt’s concern that the investigation in his case will not be adequate is a reasonable concern.

I have been following the John Smyth and Jonathan Fletcher sagas obsessively. I would like to be able to say that this is out of concern for the victims. But although I do feel deeply for them, my main interest, I must admit, is in the light that the sagas shed on my own past – and particularly the time I spent at the Iwerne camps.

Iwerne, for anyone who doesn’t know, runs Conservative Evangelical holidays for pupils (boys only in my day) from the top few public (i.e. independent) schools. They were established by E.J.H. Nash (‘Bash’). ‘Lord’, he prayed, ‘we claim the leading public schools for your kingdom’. The assumption was that if you convert the ‘elite’, the rest of the world will follow, since that’s how society works.

I was involved in the Iwerne camps for several years from Summer 1982,  as a ‘Senior Camper’ (general dogsbody) for a year, and then as an ‘Officer’. I gave talks at Iwerne camps and at Iwerne schools. For two years I lodged in Cambridge with Mark Ruston, Vicar of the Round Church (the Iwerne church in Cambridge where Jonathan Fletcher had been a curate), and author of the 1982 report on John Smyth. Justin Welby had lived there a few years earlier. After Cambridge I attended St. Helen’s Bishopsgate for a while.

I escaped from Iwerne’s orbit thanks to a lot of travelling, a lot of forbidden books, and a dark, painful epiphany in a Middle Eastern desert. I repudiated first Iwerne’s insupportable politics and corrosive misogyny. The allure of its algorithmic theology – a tweedy, brisk, Colonial spin on a 16^th century Swiss reaction to some mediaeval Roman Catholic abuses – took longer to fade. Though I’m free, the scars remain.

Iwerne was profoundly authoritarian – as the use of the title ‘Officer’ indicates. Unquestioning obedience to the upper echelons was expected. The ultimate accolade was ‘He’s sound’ – by which we meant that all his thoughts were diligently shaded from the light of reflection, scholarship, and experience. Camp talks were vetted privately for orthodoxy beforehand, and subject to detailed public criticism afterwards.

The theology was banal, stern, and cruel – a set of suffocatingly simple propositions held with steely eyed zeal. Its insistence on penal substitution and nothing but penal substitution embodied and tacitly encouraged the notion that ultimate good depended on violence. Without penal substitution, John Smyth would have had no thrashing shed in his back garden.

We loved hell, and needed it. We were glad that it was well populated – particularly by people who hadn’t been to major public schools – because that emphasised our status as members of an exclusive club of the redeemed. If hell hadn’t existed, or had been empty, we wouldn’t have felt special. We were elected – socially and theologically – and proud of it: if everyone were elected, it would make a nonsense of election.

The theology chimed perfectly with our politics, our sociology, and the grounds of our self-esteem. We were sheep, and delighted that there were goats. And we never, ever, read the rest of that parable. If someone was hungry, we had better, more urgent, and more eternally significant things to do than feed him. If someone was a stranger, we wouldn’t dream of taking him in: he might not have gone to a strategically significant school. If someone was in prison – well, that was the sort of thing you expected from the lower orders, not from us, and our time would be better spent evangelising stockbrokers at the Varsity Match than visiting him. And as for the Sermon on the Mount? An embarrassment, to be spiritualized into impotence. Blessed are the sleek. Blessed are those who earn. When I should have been handing out soup and blankets at a homeless shelter I was listening to fulminations about the Social Gospel (always capitalized, and apparently more deadly than rabies). Not only can one serve God and Mammon, one should: just ask the banker-prophets filling the pews at St. Helen’s Bishopsgate.

Humans were denigrated: they were wholly fallen. They were therefore wholly straightforward – and their needs could thus be met by childishly simple theological formulae. Any books that pretended that there was much in humans to explore or describe were suspect. Shakespeare should have put down his pen and picked up his Scripture Union notes. Humans were made in God’s image, and since God was easy to summarise and explain, so were humans. God wasn’t the ground of being. He was a headmaster, and we liked it that way, since headmasters were one of the only things we really understood.  Mystery and nuance were diabolical. To be moved by anything beautiful was unsound and effeminate. Beauty itself was a snare.

Emotion was taboo – whether religious emotion, in the form of charismatic experience or otherwise, or more general human emotion. For most of us it was a relief to hear this: our schooling and conditioning had left us emotionally stunted, and it was good to know that this stuntedness was what God wanted. Romantic relationships were belittled. A speaker assured us that it was better to be out telling public schoolboys about Isaiah 53 than to be ‘whispering sweet nothings in our girlfriend’s ear as we chewed it off’. We all sniggered nervously and obediently, longing for an ear we could chew without emotional engagement. If we could not be as the single, celibate speaker was (and it was grudgingly recognised that not all could aspire to that high calling), we should marry one of the Laura Ashley-clad lady helpers from Iwerne, and mitigate our guilt by producing new public schoolboys to become Iwerne officers.

We instrumentalized people. The lady helpers cooked at the camps, and were potential incubators of the next generation, and so were tolerable. If someone could be used for ‘the Work’, he was flattered, favoured, and promoted. But at the first sign of ‘unsoundness’ (perhaps a rumour that he’d been a bit too cosy with a non-Christian girl, or had been seen on the London train with a Buddhist book, or if he’d asked in exactly what sense the Iwerne gospel was Good News for homosexuals), out he’d go into the outer darkness, where there was weeping and gnashing of Comprehensive school teeth. The speed with which we dropped them, and the rigour of the quarantine, suggests that our main worry was infection.

The high command was shrewd, in its way. It knew that it would take little for the fallacies of its position to be exposed, and it took steps to avoid exposure. It built high-walled ghettos, from which the cultists would emerge solely for the purposes of evangelism, lectures, and rugby, and to which they would retreat at nightfall. Officers, at least in Cambridge, were expected to attend a weekly prayer meeting during term time, at which intelligence from the various ‘camp’ schools was exchanged. This helped the top brass to keep an eye on its officers, and ensured that the officers were kept emotionally tethered to the schools from which they had come themselves – which fostered a sort of nostalgic infantilism, and helped to shroud the intellectual and moral insupportability of Iwerne’s theology.

Why did I put up with it for so long? I have asked the question repeatedly over the years. Part of it was the lure of the Inner Ring: the Masonic secrecy; the flattering insistence that we were the elite; the spiritual stormtroopers of the nation. Part of it no doubt stemmed from our insecurity. We were all from the public schools that were Iwerne’s constituency, and hence emotionally immature and damaged. We needed personal and theological assurance more than most – perhaps particularly because we had to keep up the pretence of poise and infallibility. And, like most people, we loved easy answers.

Broadly there are, I think, three groups of Iwerne alumni. First, there are those who remained inside their ghetto. They have lived timorous (though often stridently dogmatic and chauvinistic) lives – constantly fearful of invasion. They don’t marry, or they marry within the clan, and tend to have jobs that make few demands on the imagination – for you never know where the imagination might lead. Second, there are those who left the ghetto, found that they couldn’t cope without its synthetic certainties, and had some sort of collapse. And third, there are those who left the ghetto, looked back at it in disgust, with regret at the wasted years, with bemusement and remorse because they were taken in, and with a huge sense of relief that they escaped. For them, every free post-Iwerne act is all the more piquant because it is an act of defiance. Mercifully I am in this third class, but I hate the disgust and bitterness that comes with membership, and I’m worried that this blog puts them shamefully on display.

So Iwerne, and the Conservative Evangelical world that Iwerne still dominates, were my worlds for a while. They are Jonathan Fletcher’s worlds, and were John Smyth’s. Jonathan Fletcher’s brother, David, ran the Iwerne camps while I was there. Jonathan is one of the High Priests of Conservative Evangelicalism: Iwerne is his power base. John Smyth was the Chairman of the Iwerne Trust.

I met John Smyth myself only once – probably in 1982. I went to his house to ask his advice about going to the Bar. Nothing untoward happened.

I never heard of the Smyth allegations until the Channel 4 story broke, but when I did hear them I wasn’t surprised. I knew why Smyth had told those boys to go into the shed, and why they had gone.

My wife asked me the other day whether I thought that Smyth was a simple sadist, or whether he actually believed the theological justifications that he mouthed. I am sure that both were true.  He had been trained to be incapable of the (elementary) reflection necessary to realise the dissonance between sadism and Christianity. In our culture, reflection was actively discouraged. Introspection was regarded as egotistical, and a highroad to heresy. Real men got on with manly sports (to burn off their libido and to make them too tired for dodgy philosophising) and with the promulgation of the algorithms.

I recently watched one of the few videos of a Jonathan Fletcher sermon that remains live on the internet. Despite everything that has emerged about him, and despite my own repudiation of his creed and his circle, I was moved. I didn’t and don’t doubt his sincerity for a moment.

That he could believe wholeheartedly what he said, while still behaving in the way that it appears he did is, as in Smyth’s case, a sign of compartmentalization – a compartmentalization that can only be sustained by systematic insistence that self-examination is effeminate and dangerous. There are strange, complex, seething things in the human psyche, we were told. Keep them out of the living areas! They’ll make a mess. Wholeness entails the breaking down of the barriers between the compartments of oneself. A whole person would know that the evangelical algorithms were literally unbelievable, and so we were taught that we should not be whole people.

Walled up behind my own Iwerne reception room were, amongst other things (some tawdry, some glorious), The Tibetan Book of the Dead, some proscribed girlfriends, a taste for animism, and the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. I hope that some of my own walls are coming down. It is slow work, but it helps not to have a philosophy and a hierarchy that insists that God built them.

I sometimes bump into some of the ghettoized people. They have an easy air when they’re on their own territory, with their own people. But get them slightly wrong-footed – lurching against  one of those scrupulously erected internal walls – and the panic rises.

I had lunch with one of them last week. ‘What do you make of the Jonathan Fletcher business?’ I asked. ‘Very sad’, he barked, ‘Now about those building plans….’ There was no getting him back to it. There was too much at stake. It would have demanded a re-evaluation of the algorithms, and the algorithms mattered more than the truth about Christianity, or the truth about himself, or the truth about the kind of creatures humans are.

Some of the best people I have ever known were fed into the Iwerne machine. Such talent, energy, discipline, and goodwill. I mourn for what they might have been – as I mourn, with less reason, for what I might have been had I not been drawn into Iwerne. Some of them are amazing still: the compartments to which they admit me are tastefully furnished and cosy. But if they had been whole!

What I want to know of Smyth, Fletcher, my former and current Iwerne friends, and myself, is this: when you use personal pronouns, what do you mean? When you say ‘I believe’, ‘I love’, or ‘I am saved’, which compartment is speaking?

Vaughan Roberts (himself a Iwerne man – one of the best; an abiding friend for whom I have great respect) made a statement at the Evangelical Ministry Assembly about the Jonathan Fletcher allegations. He said that a ‘lessons learned review’ would be necessary. That review will no doubt deal with questions such as why Fletcher was allowed to minister so widely after his licence to do so had been revoked, and more generally about the Church of England’s safeguarding policies. All very important, of course, but not as urgent and repercussive as many others. What is this theology of Jekyll and Hyde: of the Royal Courts of Justice and bloodstained canes in a Hampshire garden: of buttoned-up exegesis and naked massage? What are we? And how did ‘life in all its fullness’ come to mean a shrivelled, cramped life, characterised by fear of the Other, and maintained only by walling off all the parts of the self that might criticise the tyranny of the algorithms and wish for something better?

Charles Foster is a Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford, a practising barrister, and a writer. He read veterinary medicine and law at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and holds a PhD in medical ethics and law from Cambridge. His research is mainly concerned with questions of identity and personhood in law and ethics, and his latest non-academic book is Being a Beast – an attempt to enter the sensory worlds of non-human animals. He has six children, lives in Oxford, and spends a lot of time in the sea, up mountains, playing folk music in pubs, and in Greece. His website is at www.charlesfoster.co.uk