AS THE General Synod gathers for its York meeting, it is worth reflecting on the significant shift in attitudes towards the issues raised by the Save the Parish movement. I have never hidden my sympathies for this network, because of all-too-vivid experiences of diocesan overreach in merging parishes, forcing through church closures, and reducing clergy numbers.
No one would deny that the Church of England faces serious financial issues, but much more could be done to support parish ministry. One of the things that I respect and admire about Save the Parish is that it does not speak for any one brand of churchmanship, and it does not represent any single theological position. It is simply grounded in the Church of England’s history, practice, and sense of place.
The overreach that I have described does tend, however, to reflect a particular theological agenda. Too many of the Church of England’s senior leaders have been over-influenced by a bold Charismatic theology of signs and wonders. If you seek central funding from the Church, it helps to sell your plans as new, innovative, and mission-focused. The expectation seems to be that if we pray enough, and are earnest enough, the Spirit will rain down on us and produce the younger, bolder, and more confident Church that we all dream of.
Dream on, I say. The Church’s vision and strategy for the past two decades have sounded too much like what psychotherapists call a “flight into health”, a false dawn.
Scripture suggests that there are times when God’s people are required to face the wilderness. The antidote to anxiety is not a flight into spiritual fantasy, but sober realism and faithfulness. It seems to me to be a misunderstanding to believe that the presence of the Holy Spirit is limited to raised hands, swaying bodies, and a belief in supernatural miracles. It makes me angry when small but faithful congregations are driven out of their churches to make way for new Charismatic plants. I can think of an example when an existing congregation was put on what the “planters” sneeringly described as “end-of-life care”, while the altar was dismantled and the oh-so-predictable screens and worship bands were rolled in.
At the Reformation, the Church of England did not quite let go of the legacy of the Benedictines: the sense of faithfulness to place and stability of life, along with the commitment to regular, ordered, scriptural prayer, and a ministry to the vulnerable. This is much closer to the heart of who we are than the largely American imported theology of innovation, where enthusiasts gather round celebrity preachers, and upbeat worship conceals a lust for power. We should not be too surprised that the Welby era ended in scandal. It goes with the territory. Synod, help us get back the boring, reliable C of E.
