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

Everyone has their fifteen minutes of fame said Woody Allen.  My fifteen minutes beckoned some eighteen years ago and then vanished as quickly as they had appeared.  My brief flirtation with fame was when I was asked to take part in an independent television programme about Rasputin.  At one point there was even a suggestion that I might go to Russia and do some commentary from there about Rasputin’s life.  This was then downgraded to being a ‘talking head’ role in a UK studio, but the footage which was shot with my commentary was eventually completely edited out in favour of other material.    

The only thing left behind from this brief flurry of excitement was the reading I did, to prepare for the programme.  I wanted to sound reasonably informed on Rasputin’s notorious but very significant part in Russian history.  I had just seen my book of religion and power, Ungodly Fear, published and so I was then well sensitised to the way that Rasputin could and did use the image of holiness to seduce the entire Russian royal family in his bid for power.  There are in few people in history who succeeded in exercising so much power, personal and political, all at the same time.  His voracious appetite for sex, partying and political power seem to have had no limits.  No one seemed prepared or able to stand up to him until he was murdered in 1916 by political rivals.

The part of the story that I found most intriguing was Rasputin’s relationship with the Czarina Alexandra.  She was instrumental in keeping Rasputin right at the heart of the royal family during those dying days of the Romanoff dynasty.  It was not only because Rasputin seemed to be able to help her haemophiliac son that the relationship was strong.  There seemed to be something far more than that which kept this destructive relationship alive for so long.  As I read around the life of the Czarina it was evident that she came to Russia in 1894 to marry Nicholas as, what we would call nowadays, a ‘vulnerable adult’.  Her mother, Princess Alice, one of Queen Victoria’s children, had died when Alexandra was only six.  Life in a German castle as the motherless daughter of the Grand Duke of Hesse cannot have been easy.  Her mother seems to have taught her to speak English and presumably she would have learnt fluent German.  Arriving in Russia she would have had few opportunities to speak German.  Czar Nicholas was, however, fluent in English and this remained the language they used to communicate with each other for the whole of their married life.  The nobility and the Russian court had, I believe, a preference for French.  Russian was the language spoken by the common people.

Rasputin served to meet several of Alexandra’s needs.  First, he was a gateway for helping her feel that she was making contact with the unknown people outside the court, especially the country people, the peasant class.  Further, although Rasputin was not a monk, he represented for the Czarina the mysterious aspects of the Russian religious soul.  Associating with him enabled her to feel better connected to her adoptive country, the real Russia beyond the palace walls.  A further reason to feel deeply linked to Rasputin was in the way that he tapped into her extreme vulnerability.  Her father had died two years before her marriage in 1892.  We can speculate that she still needed parental support which her emotionally stunted husband was not apparently able to provide.  Psychologically she came to be more and more dependent on Rasputin.  She had been swept up into a relationship of deep intensity, drawing on the sexual energy of both parties, though apparently without physical consummation.

The power of Rasputin over the Czarina was thus an all-embracing one.  It tapped into Alexandra’s need for parental and human affection as well as guidance in a strange alien world.  The nature of Rasputin’s personality and his enormous charismatic and sexual energy fed and alleviated areas of Alexandra’s neediness at a profound level.  To describe this relationship using words like seduction or charm is inadequate but such words hint at the way the relationship with Rasputin seems to have combined charisma, sexual energy and religious fervour together. 

Since preparing to take part in that programme, my understanding and study of ‘charisma’ has moved on a great deal.  In particular I have come to see that it is normally linked with narcissistic traits.  No doubt if I were asked to comment on Rasputin again, I would draw attention to the way that he fulfilled most of the criteria for that disorder.  The one area that I have not made any further progress in understanding is the way sexual energy and charisma seem often to be linked.  When we describe the power of charisma in an individual whether in a religious or non-religious setting, we often want to describe it in quasi-sexual terms.  People who exercise this kind of power have a kind of magical charm which seduces people into their orbit.  We talk about people being in some way being bewitched into a relationship.  Even though I cannot make a completely coherent pattern out of these observations, there are connections between these ideas that I feel are worthy of further exploration.

Two other recent stories cry out to be compared with the Czarina’s tale in recent history.   They both involve royals and they both involve relationships involving charisma and the use of sexually-charged power.  Two people, Peter Ball and Geoffrey Epstein, successfully used their charisma and charm to manipulate members of another Royal Family in pursuit of the perpetrators’ own selfish ends.  Ball needed the friendship with Charles to protect his establishment credentials after his police caution. Epstein, according to some interpretations, was exploiting a faux friendship with Andrew to provide cover for his nefarious activities. In neither case, of course, was sex used directly, but there seems to have been in each ‘friendship’ a magnetic irresistible power drawing in the royal victims.  I have personally witnessed the charm/charisma of Peter Ball when he was my diocesan bishop.  It is in retrospect that I can identify a powerful attraction which was not unlike a form of seduction.  A child might use the word ‘creepy’ to describe this uncomfortable combination of repulsion and attraction at the same time.  I know nothing about the way Epstein came over to the people he manipulated (I am not here talking of his female slaves).  It is not unreasonable to suggest that he was gifted in this area of charming powerful people and making them do his bidding with the use of the tools of a sexually charged charisma. 

My reader will see that I am not in a position to offer a coherent pattern about the way the dynamics of charm, charisma and seduction can be described.  I am describing something based on hunch and instinct rather than scientific analysis.  And yet I am sufficiently confident that I am describing something worthy of our attention that I want to write about it in this post.  The sooner we can unravel these strands of human behaviour, the better we will be to make sense of many scenarios that take place within some dark areas of church life.  To understand is to be able to prevent something bad in the future.  That is surely a worthy aim even if our tools of analysis are not yet complete.

I made a decision that I would not allow my equilibrium to be disturbed by watching what many have now called the ‘car-crash’ interview of Prince Andrew last Saturday.  And yet even without watching the Newsnight programme, I have drawn out, from the extensive commentary, some telling parallels with the safeguarding scandals of the Church and elsewhere.   The question of whether Andrew ever met the woman he is accused of having sex with is not the central issue at one level.  As with the many cases of sexual abuse in the Church of England, it is just one event in the miasma of numerous half-truths, denials and examples of cruel behaviour.  How many times have we heard in various contexts the denial which comes in the form of ‘I have no recollection’ when abusers or colluders are faced with claims of abuse?  Such forgetfulness does not impress an observer or here, a television viewer.  It does have the advantage of being an answer that allows no follow-up question.  A protestation of ‘I don’t remember’ will always close down that part of the interview.  Perhaps that is why such a response was fed into the interview by Andrew’s publicity machine.

The most important part of the interview seems to have been what was not discussed.  Andrew mentioned sleepless nights of self-recrimination for not being more careful in his friendship with Epstein.  Having had nine years to think about this friendship after the full horror of Epstein’s behaviour had come out into the open, you might wonder why Andrew has never given any thought to the victims.  The focus in his mind was on the damage to himself, his family and the institution that he represented.  In other words, the victims/survivors of Epstein’s behaviour never entered into the royal awareness.  He certainly had nothing in the way of regret or sympathy for their situation.

There are a number of words that seem to be appropriate in describing Andrew’s attitude.  The words might include elitism, arrogance, failure of empathy and a deficit of imagination.  If we are really to believe that Andrew saw nothing odd about the clusters of very young girls in the various mansions where Epstein entertained his guests, this suggests a chronic naivety and blindness.   In short, Andrew felt himself to be too important to notice such details.  Other people were apparently there to amuse him, buy him drinks and generally provide for his needs.  From a psychological point of view, we are observing chronic narcissistic behaviour.  The individual sees himself at the centre; other people are there to be used and tolerated while they can provide gratification.  Being royal allowed Andrew to offer one thing in return, his momentary royal attention.  For some people, mesmerised by the institution of royalty, two or three words from such an Important Person can boost a flagging ego for a long time.

Why do I link the Church’s safeguarding crisis with Andrew’s poor interview performance?  It is because I see many sad parallels.  In Andrew’s interview there was the effective air-brushing away of the suffering of many hundreds of innocent victims.  His claim was that he was not a perpetrator at any point could possibly be true, but, by failing ever to speak up for the girls, we saw how to him such individuals had no value and were beneath his princely attention.   No doubt he wished, as Epstein would have done, the complaints of the victims to be shut down and silenced.  The way the Church has often failed to acknowledge victims and allow them an honourable place in its corporate consciousness seems to be a similar phenomenon.  Every time a Bishop ‘forgets’ a disclosure of abuse or a church leader helps to cover up decades of abuse, it is eerily close to Andrew omitting to mention anything about the victims of his friend Epstein.

One issue that my blog has given a possibly disproportionate amount of time to is the Smyth/Fletcher affair.  Events from so long ago might in other settings lose some of their potency after 30 plus years.  But to repeat, the safeguarding crises in the Churches have never been only or even mainly about the abusive events of the past.  It is about the cover-ups that have followed.  People who watched the Andrew interview on Saturday are rightly alarmed at the accusations levelled against the prince.  But they are probably just as alarmed by the twists and turns of his publicity machine as it has tried to help extricate him from his appalling choices.   What is especially damaging about the Andrew affair is his persistent refusal to own up properly to what happened in the past.  However ghastly and unroyal, a clean breast of the behaviour of a younger man might just have earned public forgiveness.   The denials and unconvincing story lines invented by public relations experts have done the opposite.  It is hard to see how Andrew will ever live down what passed in the interview on Saturday night.

The effective demise of Prince Andrew as a public figure may have begun last Saturday.  A similar process may be in operation in the Church of England as well.  Here the ‘car-crash’ has not yet happened but there are many signs that people in and outside the Church are becoming weary of the spin and cover-up that seems endemic in parts of the Church.  The church body as a whole may seem healthy with the founding of new congregations and signs of growth in various parts of the institution.  But readers of this blog will know what I am talking about when I say that there are areas of serious disease within the body.  Since the safeguarding crisis has become public knowledge, it has become more and more apparent that many, if not the majority, of our church leaders have been complicit in suppressing information about the past.   What information is publicly available has in every case come from survivors and the work of investigative journalism.   Channel 4 broke the Smyth episode and the Daily Telegraph came up with the outlines of a story about the activities of Jonathan Fletcher.  That process will not stop.

The hierarchy of the Church of England are clearly aware of the full dimensions of all the hidden scandals and many of them are fearful of more press disclosures.  One particular group that has more to fear than most are the network of conservative leaders that form part of the Renew Constituency.   Numerically this group is not large, but over the years they have presided over many of the institutions with the darkest secrets.  It is possible to speak of Iwerne/Renew/Church Society/AMiE together with a cluster of massively wealthy parishes, such as St Helen’s Bishopsgate, as a single entity.  Following the closure of REFORM and the re-organisation of the other groups into the Renew network, the Vicar of St Helen’s Bishopsgate, William Taylor, has become the most powerful figure in this group.  He and Hugh Palmer, the Rector of All Souls Langham Place have together been working within the conservative networks for many decades.  It is not unreasonable to conclude that their current silence and irregular approach to safeguarding (the curious messages sent out to churches after the Fletcher scandal broke) are consonant with an extensive knowledge of the shameful things that have gone on in the past.  If these leaders were truly innocent of any information about the Smyth/Fletcher outrages, you would expect their churches to be at the forefront in offering massive help to those in their constituency who have been affected.  Instead appeals for pastoral support there seem to meet with a patrician silence.  As with Prince Andrew, survivors are apparently too unimportant to care about.  

Prince Andrew has shown to the world that his first concern, in his blinkered view of the world, is to himself and the institution of the Royal Family that he so poorly represents.   The Church in its lamentable history of care for its own victims has also shown a blindness to anything but its own reputation and the survival of the institution.  The failure to come clean about the past is enormously damaging.  The eventual realisation by ordinary people of what has been hidden from them by people they had always looked up to in respect will cause a shocking sense of betrayal and disillusionment which will reverberate for decades to come.

A few blog posts back I discussed the idea of ‘imagination deficit’.  In putting forward this thought, I was thinking especially of the way many people, even church people, seem unable to enter into the subjective experience of others.  There is here a failure of empathy.   But the imagination is also to be used in a quite different way, to imagine the world being better than it is.  The Beatles song, Imagine, reminds us about the way that the imagination can evoke in us a sense of hope that the ‘world will be as one’. 

Using our imaginations, Beatles style, is a good exercise for all of us.  Instead of the cynicism that so often infects us and our institutions, our imagining can help us draw on and take seriously some of the biblical imagining with its constant striving for harmony, reconciliation and peace.  We may also try to imagine at the same time what we would like the Church to be.  We spend a great deal of time hearing sermons about love and reconciliation but quite often these qualities in people are hard to find.  About a year ago I wrote about the breakthrough that came to a church near Manchester after the suicide of a teenage member, Lizzie Lowe, who believed she was gay.  The Vicar, Nicholas Bundock, led his Church on a difficult journey of self-examination so that they ended up in a place of acceptance of the LGBT community.  Lizzie’s death had forced them to imagine and think about the isolation and sense of rejection which many gay people experience at the hands of society and much of the Church.  The old policy of ‘we don’t discuss this issue here’ had been a cause of real danger and tragedy.  Having sat with Lizzie’s family in the place of grief and reflected on what the Bible was teaching about the needs of all ostracised outsiders, the congregation, or at least the majority of it, knew that it had to change.  The congregation has now adopted a positive welcome to the LGBT community as well as to other minorities in society.   By using their imaginations, they had come to see that God’s welcome and acceptance was not just for ‘people like us’.  It has been a difficult journey, especially hard for those Christians who believe the Bible has a fixed unaltered teaching about the gay question and other issues.  The Vicar still attracts attention from online trolls and attacks for this brave act of compassion towards the minorities represented by Lizzie.   I would like to regard this Church’s movement as being like a divinely inspired action based on the exercise of their imagination.  Imagining allowed that congregation to sit in a new place and understand the central aspects of the Good News in a fresh way.

Acts of imagination take us to new places that in the real world are normally hard to achieve.  Too often the effort is inhibited and controlled by fear.  The kind of fear we are talking about may well be expressed in theological language but it normally has precious little to do with theology or belief.  It is far more likely to be a sign of personal insecurity.  The Church is, sadly, very prone to colluding in a fearful retreat into immobility and rigidity when it is asked to exercise its corporate imagination.  Let us, nevertheless, think what kind of world, what kind of Church, we can imagine which would resolve our present crisis of unacknowledged abuse and the existence of many unhealed survivors of those terrible actions.

In our new Church, the one created by an act of our imaginations, there is no space for individuals and institutions to cling on to self-referential status or power.  The work of the Church, the task of promoting God’s forgiveness and welcome to humanity can happen without there ever being a hierarchy of manipulation or control in the background.  We can imagine how preaching and the other tasks of ministry would cease ever to be a way of enhancing individual self-esteem.  There are at present too many individuals in the pulpit who use it as a way of overcoming their personal fragility to receive some kind of psychological boost.  Our imagined Church will be one like the one dreamed of by Mary in the Magnificat.   The proud are scattered, the mighty cast down and the humble and meek are exalted.  Translating these words for today’s survivors might mean the following.  In our new Church the survivors will always be honoured and listened to.  No longer would they be despised and treated with contempt.  The proud and the powerful would come to see that they can longer use underhand methods of demeaning these weakened abuse victims and making their situations worse.  The Church, the body of Jesus’ followers, will no longer ever tolerate this kind of behaviour from some of its powerful members.  Our imagined Church will thus be at last a true place of refuge, a place of healing for all, because God’s healing will truly flow through it.

The Church of our imagination would also be a place where mutuality would mark all relationships between Christians.  While some kind of authority structure will continue to exist, among the relationships in the church there would never be space for crude status seeking among those in authority.   Our Church would be a place where legitimate authority would be the norm while at the same time cabals, secret groups and controlling networks would disappear.  Every single member of the church would somehow acquire an instinctive understanding of the words of Paul when he told the Philippians to treat others as better than themselves.  If ever old crimes are revealed, the first instinct of the person who receives this information will always be to seek the welfare and make a compassionate response to the complainant.  This would always involve the pursuit of justice, so that, in a biblical sense, God’s righteousness may prevail. The old ‘forgetting’, ignoring or belittling of survivors to protect that church will be no more.  The Church in our imaginations would be a place where power posturing has become extinct. 

The Church that comes alive within our imaginations when we allow this imaginative process to begin is a wonderful place.  Obviously, the gap between what is and what could be is wide.  Chief among the difficulties that Nicholas Bundock found when he led his church in a new direction were his encounters with trenchant opposition.  Just as the Church is sometimes manipulated by fear-based methods of control, so fear is a factor in stopping people in pursuing a Magnificat vision of the Church in the first place.   It will be also an issue for anyone standing up to powerful vested interests.  Institutions like the Church will always, as we have seen, have ways of pushing back strongly against those who question the status quo, even if it means ignoring the individuals who have been damaged by its own misuse of its power.   Once again, we need the Church to rediscover the way of power that was taught by Jesus.  That would bring us closer to the Church of our imaginations, the Church of true healing and safety.

This blog post has been updated with a message from the conference organiser Jaqui Wright.

53 years ago, at an important meeting of the National Assembly of Evangelicals in London, John Stott, the unofficial leader of all evangelical Anglicans in Britain, resisted strong pressures encouraging him and his fellow evangelicals to leave the national Church.  Many conservative Anglicans, both inside and outside the Church of England, wanted to be part of a new trans-denominational evangelical body.  Stott successfully persuaded Anglican evangelicals to stay and remain part of the Church of England.  Although he was successful in resisting this pressure, there is still a tendency among many conservative Christians to sit lightly on their Anglican membership and seek links with other groupings.  Some, such as GAFCON or the Anglican Mission in England (AMiE), have the Anglican name in the titles, while possessing a somewhat loose connection to the official structures of the Church of England or the Anglican Communion.  Keeping many such disparate groups together within the broad tent of Anglicanism has, over the years, been a challenging task for Church leaders.  Next year we will see once again the gathering of the world-wide Anglican Communion bishops at Lambeth 2020.  The many divisions that currently exist will once again be exposed to full view.  One wonders if a Conference of this kind will ever be able to be held again. 

What I have been describing is a Church where centrifugal forces and pressures towards schism are constantly in evidence.   There is, however, one particular facet of the Church’s life which holds things together in spite of a constant tendency to fragment.   I am not referring to the Church’s position within English law or the resources of the Church Commissioners to provide pensions for those who serve in salaried posts.  No, the unity of the Church is made possible because of the work of bishops.  Bishops do not normally allow themselves to get involved when congregations hive off into semi-autonomous units, but they do take an interest when cases of immoral conduct emerge.  The power they have in this situation is important.  They can and do withdraw licences and permissions to officiate.  Those with PTOs are particularly vulnerable to having their ability to take services withdrawn.  There is no appeal against this action as far as I know and it is an instrument of real and effective power granted to bishops.  In effect it gives every diocesan bishop the right to decide who and who is not able to act as his/her representative in the parishes of the diocese.

In January 2017 the Bishop of Southwark, no doubt after months (years?) of enquiry, withdrew the PTO from Jonathan Fletcher, a retired priest living in London.  This event attracted absolutely no attention outside the circles occupied by Fletcher.  However, within the circles of his influence, it was a seismic event.  Jonathan Fletcher is a major player in the group called Renew.  Renew is the brainchild of William Taylor, Rector of St. Helen’s Bishopsgate. It currently comprises churches affiliated to it, and what was formerly Reform (co-founded by Jonathan Fletcher), AMiE (plants churches outside C of E), and Church Society (education and patronage society). Renew has an annual conference and regular regional groups led by ministers Taylor selects.  The most recent conference included an international GAFCON speaker – signalling Taylor’s desire to extend his Renew control to that movement in its English expression. All Souls is a crown appointment, so not a CS church. But it is a Renew church by affiliation. Robin Weekes, the current Vicar of Emmanuel Wimbledon, Fletcher’s old church, chairs the Southwark Renew group of ministers. All these networks are inextricably connected, apparently under the control of William Taylor.

The action of the Bishop of Southwark against Fletcher had an instant effect within this constituency of Renew where it could be seen as threat to the considerable power exercised by its leaders.  The wealthy parishes within it and the patronage and influence they exert through the institutions under their control means that Renew and it leaders have substantial power in the Church of England as a whole.  The Renew group could be said to have a control almost equivalent to the House of Bishops.  The scandal of Fletcher’s suspension could be seen to be a major threat to this continuing influence.

In June this year, the Daily Telegraph published an account of the background to the story of Fletcher’s suspension.  This spoke of sexual misconduct and spiritual abuse.  I do not propose to go over that material again.  The reaction after the breaking of the Telegraph story had two parts.  First of all, apart from very brief press statements from the Renew leaders, there was a rather unconvincing ‘apology’ from Fletcher himself.  He apologised for harm done but claimed not to know who were his victims.  His former parish in Wimbledon also offered a help-line for his victims.  The second reaction we noted on this blog was the way that the Internet suddenly seemed to eliminate all mentions of Fletcher, including his sermons and other references to his existence.  It was as though someone (with power) had made a decision to make him disappear.  Somebody somewhere was alarmed by the exposure of this story and was hoping very much that it would go away.  Thus, the story remains left hanging in the air and little new information has been allowed to leak out over the past months.   But when an individual of influence appears to have been misbehaving over thirty plus years, it is hard to see that new material will not eventually come trickling out.

A new twist in the story has arisen this past week.  It relates not to Fletcher himself but rather to an apparent state of disarray among the current leading members of the Renew network.  The current point of interest concerns a day conference for May 2020 entitled ‘Church as a Refuge’ to be held at All Souls Langham Place but promoted by the Church Society, the education arm of Renew.  It is featuring as a main speaker Dr Diane Langberg from the States.  She is a top-notch speaker and an expert on Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and the way that it is often found in cases of child sexual abuse. 

An organisation which sponsors a conference on this theme is to be commended.  It extends the Church’s knowledge and understanding of how to deal with past abuses.  To quote the publicity sent out by Ros Clark, the conference is designed ‘to enable better understanding of power, control and abuse within the Church’.  When the conference was first announced it contained an endorsement from Vaughan Roberts, the Vicar of St Ebbes Oxford and a key Renew player.  He is an important figure in the Fletcher saga since all the official, somewhat terse, press statements from Renew about Fletcher carried his name.  But that endorsement for the conference has now disappeared.   Can we possibly read from this that some among the Renew leadership are embarrassed by the fact that All Souls/Church Society is sponsoring such a conference so soon after the revelation of the Smyth/Fletcher scandals?

The most notable feature around these scandals has been the complete failure of the current leadership, including Roberts, to come forward to say what they know about the Fletcher/Smyth abuses.  A conference of this kind endorsed by the entire Renew leadership might represent a positive step forward by the network to look at abuse and its aftermath.  But, by the simple act of withdrawing endorsement on the part of Roberts, we are left to draw quite different conclusions.  Behind the scenes of a very well defended and secretive leadership clique, we detect strong disagreements.  These will be not only about the desirability of the conference itself, but also the ongoing issue of how to navigate the continuing fall-out of the Smyth/Fletcher scandals.  We do not know the details, of course.  The dynamics of such a disagreement are likely to centre, not on the welfare of the numerous survivors of both men’s abuse, but how best to preserve the reputation and power of the Renew coalition and the various organisations allied to it.    

The conference of May 2020 is, in itself, a thoroughly positive initiative.  I may apply to go to it myself.  But the power and effectiveness of the conference will be damaged unless it is accompanied by a commitment to sort out the abusive past practised and concealed by members of the Renew network and its leaders.     Meanwhile we surmise that any open discussion of abuse is perhaps rattling cages and consciences in places where there is something to hide.  Everything about the Fletcher/Smyth affair and the way that it seems to centre around a cluster of conservative Anglican organisations sends out a smell of long-term conspiracy and secrecy.  Can such a conference do anything to wash away the guilt of thirty years of secrecy and cover-up within the Renew network?  It may do something to help but we suspect that any improvement will be weakened by apparent strong disagreements within the leadership of these powerful networks.  This makes the conference appear to be more like a fig leaf, attempting to cover up something shameful rather than the beginning of a new chapter.   Our welcome of this positive initiative thus has to be tempered with some strong reservations.

Since writing this piece and having drawn information from the Church Society website, it has been drawn to my attention that the conference is an independent initiative. This new information would have changed some of the emphases of my piece, including my intended unreserved endorsement of it taking place. However, the Renew network and the churches attached to it remain a controversial setting at the very least. The organiser Jaqui Wright has asked me to include the following

The Church as a Refuge conference is the idea of Jacqui Wright, a survivor. If she can spare one person or family the heartache and grief that she and her family have experienced, then it will all be worth it.

The overarching aim is to prevent further instances of abuse occurring in churches and Christian organisations. Within this aim, the first objective is to raise awareness about the abuse of power in Christian contexts among the leaders of churches and Christian organisations – and those whose task it is to hold those leaders to account. A second objective is to begin developing a clearer pathway to help victims. Skilled support for traumatised survivors is difficult to find in the UK. We therefore need to hear the voices of survivors.

There appears to be much speculation on social media about the arrangements for the conference. For clarification:

1. This is not a conference about conservative evangelical Anglicans. The problem of abuse in Christian contexts is not confined to one denomination. People from all denominations or none are welcome to attend;

• Jacqui Wright asked Rev Hugh Palmer if All Souls Langham Place would host the one day event and we are grateful that he has agreed to hire the venue to us;  

• Jacqui has invited Dr Diane Langberg to be the main speaker and to pay her costs;

• Jacqui and her family have created the website which is still a work in progress (subject to change) and made arrangements for delegates to buy tickets online;

• Revenue from the tickets will be used to offset expenses in relation to the conference and will be held in a separate charity account (not for profit) with an independent signatory;

• The financial risks involved in holding the conference are born only by Jacqui and Cliff Turner (her husband), not by anyone else;

• Cliff will chair the conference. (He has significant experience of chairing conferences as he has previously been the independent chair of three local safeguarding boards);

• We have been asking organisations and churches across denominations to publicise the conference. Various people offered their endorsement of the conference when they heard about it, including Vaughan Roberts. We decided to change the Home page of the website for a supporters’ page instead. However, this is on hold as we have been dealing with incorrect information spreading around especially online;

• Rumours on social media suggest we are being manipulated by others who allegedly are seeking to do ‘window dressing’ or put a ‘fig leaf’ over past organisational sins. We find these untrue comments upsetting. Like everyone, we don’t know what we don’t know, but neither are we entirely naïve. We respectfully ask that people would refrain from speculation. Please contact us directly with your concerns and seek the facts before sharing judgements. Email info@churchasarefuge.com

1. We are seeking to do this conference for the glory of God and his church. Everyone is welcome! We appreciate your support. Cliff and Jacqui 10.11.19

There are some words in the English language where a precise meaning is always going to be approximate.  One such word is Establishment when used in a British context.  The word speaks of such things as the protection of traditional and conservative values by a powerful elite who have a strong preference for the status quo.  There is also an assumption that those who belong to such a group are among the very wealthy in society.  When challenged to define exactly who in fact belongs to the British Establishment, the answers are going to vary according to whom you speak.  This ambiguity about who belongs to our UK Establishment points to another feature of the word.   Those in this group normally exercise their power and influence over society in secret, or at least in ways that do not draw too much attention to them.

The word ‘Establishment’ is also a helpful one to use in trying to understand what is going in our Church affairs.  The safeguarding crises over the past twenty years have brought out into the open a much clearer picture of the way establishment dynamics and values can work.  These values, normally completely hidden from view, are strongly articulated in the 2000 letters sent to Lambeth Palace to support Bishop Peter Ball after his Caution in 1992.   The great and the good, members of one or other of the particular establishment networks occupied by Bishop Peter Ball, entered into a letter writing frenzy to try and persuade Archbishop George Carey to rehabilitate the disgraced bishop.  Among the letters were some from royalty, the top echelons of the social and political elite and other groups such as top lawyers and public-school headmasters.  The very existence of this stash of letters is an important witness to the fact that we can still meaningfully speak of a powerful establishment dynamic in England.  Here it is a sub-set of the main one, but one energetically operating inside the Church of England.  They are doing what such groups do best, protesting vigorously when one of their number is attacked, trying hard to restore the status quo by seeking the rehabilitation of the accused.  In this episode the establishment methods were temporarily victorious.  Although Peter Ball eventually, in 2015, went to prison for his crimes, he had enjoyed twenty years of partial rehabilitation.  For all that time he had continued to enjoy dinner invitations, week-end house parties and a warm welcome at many English public-schools.

A second clear example of establishment dynamics at work is in the present situation with John Smyth, Jonathan Fletcher and the activities of the Iwerne/Titus Trustees.  As I have claimed several times on this blog, there is clear evidence of powerful wealthy people linked to the Church hiding the truth about damaging abuse to some individuals attending the Iwerne camps, as well as protecting Smyth from prosecution.  The Ball group and the Smyth group seem to have operated in similar ways and may even have had some individuals in common.  Ball’s supporters were socially drawn from some socially extremely well-connected people, including members of the Royal Family.  One cannot provide higher social credentials than letters from the Prince of Wales.  The Smyth backers and supporters did not have the Royal Family to advance their cause, but they could call on numbers of extremely wealthy evangelical backers to rally together to keep a lid on the scandal.  As I have pointed out before it takes enormous energy to manage a scandal as far-reaching as the one around Smyth and Fletcher.  It is unfortunate that this story will not probably ever receive the same scrutiny as that given to the Peter Ball affair through the IICSA process. 

The Smyth supporters and the Ball supporters seem to have sufficient things in common to allow us to describe them both as ‘establishment groups’ operating within the Church of England.  Both these networks operate like ‘establishments’, socially powerful groups who wish to defend and support one of their own as well as defend privilege and power that they believe to be rightfully theirs.  One intriguing connection which links them is that both groups have connections a number of major public schools in England.  In particular the headmasters of some of these establishments seem to play a prominent part in both the Ball and Smyth supporters’ groups.  This raises many intriguing questions which, unfortunately, I can take no further.

Before we leave this theme of establishment values and groups operating within the Church of England, I need to mention one further group that seems to use similar methods to promote its cause.  I am thinking of Freemasons.  When I was a child, I knew two things about the Masons.  The first thing was that the Archbishop of Canterbury who confirmed me, Geoffrey Fisher, was an enthusiastic Mason.  The other fact was that local papers then (the 50s) published regular stories about Masons.  As part of the story a local Vicar would be quoted, opposing them on scriptural grounds.  Since those far off days, my meetings with them have been on some awkward but rare occasions, when trying to organise funerals of individuals who combined church membership with attendance at the local Masonic lodge.  Although my current exposure to the world of Masons is non-existent, I am still left with uncomfortable questions.  Any group that possesses secrecy, privilege and power will potentially be working in a similar way to the two other establishment networks we have mentioned.  The Ball and Smyth supporters have done the Church considerable harm and that damage is a continuing wound to the Church right up to today.  I have no current conspiracy theories about the Masons to air here, but there will always be an air of discomfort about any group that operates outside the norms of open communication and accountability.   The late Frank Fisher, one of Archbishop Geoffrey Fisher’s sons, managed to combine membership of a masonic lodge, the Church of England, the board of the Ecclesiastical Insurance Company and Nobody’s Friends, the elite dining club.  His day job was as a headmaster of consecutively, I think, two public schools.  Without having further details, there is a curious coinciding of several establishment traits in a single individual.  The rest of us, living outside such charmed circles, are given further reason to wonder whether, when such networks exist in the Church, ecclesiastical power is always being exercised healthily.   The establishment groups we have identified operate with a large degree of secrecy.  This fact alone will always generate suspicion and lack of trust.  How can we know that the power possessed by these elite secret groups is always or, indeed ever, used for the benefit of all?   As the IICSA process has made clear, much power and privilege in the Church have been dispensed in ways that are hidden from sight.  We are constantly being reminded how sexual and spiritual abuse thrives in such places of secrecy.  Every area of the Church, to be healthy, must become properly and routinely transparent.  The Church otherwise will remain a sick and unhealthy institution.  Self-serving groups have no real place in an institution which follows a master who came to be the servant of all.

Once again, a familiar theme is emerging in the hearings of IICSA this week, the story of repeated failures of senior people in the Catholic Church to identify with victims and survivors.  A similar pattern of detachment from the pain and suffering of survivors was also seen among senior Anglicans when the Diocese of Chichester was under scrutiny.  It seems to be a part of the institutional life of Churches all around the world.  Those at the highest levels of authority in churches seem to have the greatest difficulty understanding the struggles of those who may suffer at the bottom of the structure. 

As I write these words, there is playing in the background live testimony from the IICSA hearing.  It is being made by a Catholic woman who has struggled to be heard with her complaint against a priest who abused her when she was a teenager.  She then felt re-abused by allowing the Church to carry out an internal investigation into her case.  After a great deal of effort, she eventually had her complaint about incompetent and insensitive handling by the Westminster Diocese upheld.  The texts of letters of apology sent to the same survivor were also read out.  The sentiments of these letters could be described at the very least as cloying and unconvincing.  There seems to have been in these ‘apologies’ a complete inability to enter imaginatively into the world of the victim/survivor and a refusal to recognise what has taken place in the life of the abused individual.

The crucial word in my reflections is the word imagination.  Whether it was the work of bishops, legal officers or advisers being described, many of them, operating inside the institutional structure, appeared to be suffering from an identical deficit of imagination.  The rule seems to be, whether in Anglican or Catholic circles, that if you work for the centre, you routinely withdraw empathy and compassion from the abused, the one who threatens the good name of your paymaster.  Defence of the structure and promoting its interests seems to win every time over feeling and understanding the needs of a survivor.   

Imagination is a vital human quality.  It allows us to conceive how things can be different.   The gift of imagination is what enables us to escape from the predictability of our assigned roles in life and think outside the box.  And yet so many people have been conditioned to fear ever doing things or thinking things differently.  This is not just true of people whose tasks in life are to be subservient and obey orders.  It also applies to people at the very top of career pinnacles.  It could be claimed that people everywhere know the experience of being constrained by their roles so that they do not really experience freedom. As I write these words, I am thinking of the words of a Gilbert and Sullivan song which begins ‘I am the very model of a modern Major General’.  This song carries with it the implication that Major-Generals are all expected to behave in a predictable and identical way.  To fit the model perfectly is all that is expected of us. It is the highest possible ambition.  One can change the aphorism of Descartes into one that says ‘I fit in, therefore I am.’

Fitting in, becoming the model parent, worker, director or bishop is the place where most people want to be.  It is a variation on the universal need to belong.  What is true of individuals is also true of institutions.  Predictable institutions are far more comfortable places to belong to.  A Church like the Catholic Church has a great deal of appeal in its offer of being a place that seldom changes.   To have total predictability in one’s institution or one’s life is a good selling point and it works for many people.  The IICSA hearings over the past couple of days have illustrated powerfully the power of predictability and the attractiveness of institutional/individual defensiveness and inertia.  We hear once again that an institution, here the Catholic Church through its officers, has acted with no imagination towards a suffering individual.   It has rather, almost mechanically, sought to apply defensive legal principles instead of a human caring response.  Any institution behaving in this way, will always fail to be a place of human freedom, spontaneity and deep humanity.

One ray of light did appear in the gloom of the Catholic response to IICSA.  At some point in the proceedings Cardinal Vincent Nichols made the admission to the hearing that after his visit to a meeting in Rome in February this year, he had written to his fellow bishops stating “For me what happened was that I began to see what we were talking about from the perspective of the victim/survivor.”  The lead council to the Inquiry, Brian Altman QC, drew out in particular the three short words ‘began to see.’

From Cardinal Nichols’ use of three words, we can begin to reconstruct how far we have to go to recreate and repair the deficit of imagination that operates widely within our churches.  Cardinal Nichol’s confession is remarkable.  The implication seems to be that he and bishops of any church, who appear not to care about survivors, are victims of an empathy deficit of some kind.  One wants to ask two question when this apparent syndrome, the imagination deficit, appears.  Are bishops appointed to care for sees because they are a safe pair of hands to preserve the material welfare of plant, buildings and wealth?  In other words, are the managers/custodians preferred to pastoral/prophetic types who might, God forbid, squander wealth on people?  A second question is harder to answer but it emerges from the heart of this blog’s concerns.  Does the very fact of becoming a bishop do something to one’s capacity to care?  Do bishops typically become so caught up in administration and the exercise of their authority that, over a period of time, they cease to relate pastorally to their flocks?  The questions are asked, not because there is a definitive answer to either of them but as a way of starting to understand the Cardinal’s three words in relation to survivors.

I first met Vincent Nichols at an ecumenical conference in the mid-80s.  He made an impression on me then as a good man and I have followed his career from a distance with interest.   I believe that the deficit of imagination that is revealed in the current hearings can be largely laid at the door of the institution that he and his fellow bishops oversee.  His long-time immersion in an inflexible hierarchical structure has in some way damaged his humanity and created a tragic deficit of love and empathy inside him.  That also may be the simple explanation for the extraordinary gulf that we find across the churches between safeguarding and the task of healing/caring for survivors.  I am by no means the only commentator to notice the massive discrepancy between money spent on prevention training and the money spent on supporting survivors.  Is it because the leaders are chosen to conserve wealth and plant so that they become detached from this particular manifestation of human suffering? 

To return to the key idea of the piece, imagination deficit.  When there is in us a functioning imagination then we can be people who can understand the suffering of others and respond appropriately.  If bishops and other leaders in the Church ever fail in this task of exercising imagination, such victims/survivors can suffer greatly.   Now that Cardinal Nichols has had the humility to admit that he is on the bottom step of understanding the needs of survivors, perhaps other can be encourage to follow him.  The gift of imagination is the key and prerequisite to effective and powerful love and it may yet heal the Church.

Charities who work for peace and the healing of Survivors

I have recently come across the work of an organisation that seeks to help promote peace, the Tim Parry Johnathan Ball Foundation for Peace.  The names are those of the two boys who lost their lives in the terrorist bombing outrage in Warrington in 1993.  This organisation recognises that working for peace needs to have three parts to be effective.  In the first place it needs to be in the forefront of preventing violence before it happens.  If some sort of conflict does arise, then there is the important work of resolution.  Dialogue between warring parties needs to be established to stop such violence escalating.  Finally, there has to be the readiness to respond when a violent event has occurred.  The task then becomes the care for individuals who have been left wounded and traumatised by the conflict. 

A short booklet produced by this Foundation was handed out at a recent helpful local meeting to discuss the issue of trauma and PTSD.  Present were representatives of the army and local fire services and we listened to various presentations bringing us up to date with the latest ideas about helping those who suffer from the aftermath of trauma.  Apart from interested lay people like myself, there were also medics, social workers and others involved with situations of stress and trauma in society.  Of all the pieces of paper that were handed out to the attendees, the Foundation booklet stood out as being by far the most useful to someone facing the consequences of trauma, either as a victim or a concerned supporter.

Most of us who take an interest in trauma, our own or that of someone close to us, are familiar with the signs and symptoms affecting those who are coming through it.  It is. however, extremely helpful to have these listed, as the booklet does, so that anyone encountering a victim of trauma for the first time, is better prepared for the unexpected ways that the aftermath of trauma may be expressed.  The Foundation booklet lists twenty potential PTSD symptoms suffered by those who have experienced abusive or violent trauma.  These will quite often affect negatively the well-being and happiness of the sufferer.  Take the two examples of anger and hyperactive behaviour.  Neither would make for easy social relationships.  The common reaction of a by-stander is to avoid or walk away from a victim who may exhibit these effects of past trauma.  The task of befriending an abuse survivor is nevertheless always an important calling for all members of the church community.  There is a need to persevere with such friendships even if they can become strained from time to time.   

The booklet that I have been referring to has the title STEPS, standing for Steps towards Empowerment and Positive Survival.  It has the subtitle Life after Trauma.  Although the trauma suffered in Warrington and elsewhere followed a massive case of violence, much in the booklet does in some way relate to the needs of abuse survivors in the Church.  Like the survivors of bomb outrages, many of these abuse survivors have suffered a deep trauma, reaching to the very depths of the personality.  The path to healing can begin when they become aware of the fact that there are other people who do care and will accompany them back to the goal of wholeness.

The booklet follows up its list of the signs of deep trauma by indicating how to start on the journey toward proper self-care.  Particularly helpful is the list of caring support groups. There are also sentences that are lifted from the Department of Justice Code of Practice concerned with the victims of criminal behaviour.  Even allowing for the fact that some forms of church abuse are not technically criminal acts, it is a matter of sorrow that many Church abuse victims are allowed to think that the treatment they receive from Church authorities is less than caring.  If the Department of Justice can insist on minimum standards of care for victims, then so can the Church.  The DOJ states that all victims must be provided with ‘clear information from the Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority on eligibility for compensation under the scheme.’  There is also mentioned a ‘right to information about your crime within specified time scales, including the right to be notified of any arrests and court cases.’  We also have a reference to victims ‘receiving services … to the level of service they want’.  One would love to see equivalent contractual promises for abuse survivors set out in a Church document.

Why did this small 8-page booklet make such an impression on me?  The reason is that its approach is calm and realistic.  It takes the existence of trauma and the effect it has on its victims as a fact.  The response to the trauma is then approached compassionately and holistically. From the crime event itself that caused the original trauma, we are taken right through to the care and rehabilitation of the victims.  There is a strong professional feel about the approach.  The people who wrote it really seem to understand the implications of terrible traumatic events on people’s lives and in brief statements they offer realistic practical advice and help. Nowhere in the document are victims of trauma made to feel guilty or patronised. The victims are being offered help and advice by people who really understand about trauma and how this burden needs to managed for the future.

The question now arises.  Why cannot the Church produce a similar document for its own survivors?  Why can we not have a short professional statement of exactly what the Church is ready to do to help the healing of those afflicted by abuse from the past? There could be phone numbers of organisations as well a central number which would allow individuals all over the country to access contact with their local Safeguarding Adviser.  For such a system to work the Church at the centre would have to make sure that there existed resources at the local level to deal with a possible stream of phone calls.   Above all the document would have to show, as the STEPS document does, that the Church at every level really understands, free from condescension, the issues faced by survivors in coping with past abuse events.  If constant pressure has been brought to bear by such survivors on Church officials from the Archbishops down, this is simply the result of structures of care and responsibility not being currently in place.  In the aftermath of terrible events like Warrington 1993 and Manchester 2016 there are many traumatised individuals who require support and help.  It would seem that the secular world, as exemplified by the Tim Parry Johnathan Ball Foundation is responding.  Can we not expect the Church to provide the resources, the wisdom and the insight to make the same healing response to the trauma of abuse that hangs so heavily on the Church today?