Return to the public gallery

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Having written to my bishops (replies received, thanks) and to lay representatives of my diocese on General Synod (wish I could say the same), I was sufficiently disappointed in the Bishops’ Report (GS2055) that I took the opportunity to go along to Church House, Westminster, for much of the day on which it was debated. I was on General Synod for 7 years, and before I stood for election I used to attend regularly – and not just for the Big Debates – to get a sense of what it was all about. The public gallery was therefore familiar territory to me, but when I started my journey on Wednesday I didn’t care whether I made it that far. I just wanted to register my disappointment and to be with those hurt by the Report.

Outside Church House

I started off joining those stationed outside the building, complete with banners; it was great to meet people I’d only previously met online, as well as lots of new people. I also said hello to members of GS with whom my path has crossed over the years. I even spoke to my bishop. I sat with for a while on the steps with someone from a news channel who wanted to know what a ‘take note’ debate meant and what passing or rejecting the motion to take note would mean; I remember my Standing Orders pretty well and was able to give her some pointers.

The last time I stood there on the steps, I was holding one letter of the word WAITING, as part of a Movement for the Ordination of Women vigil. It all felt very familiar. At that time, many people assumed I was active in MOW because I felt a vocation to be a priest, but that was never the case; I was there because I believed that all roles in the church should potentially be open to women, because women are as much members of the church as men are. This time around, perhaps those who don’t know me assumed I am in the LBGTI+ group. Wrong again: as before, I was there because for me this is an issue of inclusion and of recognition that all members of the church are of equal value. I think it’s very important, in both debates, to have people present about whom it can’t be said ‘You’re only here because it’s all about you.’

Despite a lot of media people desperate to get some footage, I avoided giving interviews – I think it’s far better that those closer to the issues than I am are able to share their experience. Some people I stood with were very much a part of the Church of England, including those hearing a call to full-time ministry: others had reluctantly left our church, making their presence at the vigil outside Church House perhaps even more significant.

One highlight on the steps was when a supporter came along with sandwiches, fruit and sweet things for those of us who hadn’t managed to take a break to eat. I was very touched that someone would do this. His gift reflected a sense of generous hospitality all round.

As we stood on the steps, there was also a lot of confusion, which brought back many memories of my time on GS. We heard the (true) rumour that as many as 60 people had decided not to take part in the session in small groups discussing real-life case studies (while I was on the steps, one person came out of a group in tears because of what someone else in that group had said). We heard that the Archbishop of Canterbury was going to see the people who had opted out of group work (also true). We heard that around 160 people had asked to speak in the debate (again, true). We also heard about when tickets to the public gallery would be issued, and I decided to try to get one of those. Success.

Inside the debating chamber

Once installed in the gallery, I spoke to the woman sitting next to me. She was, she said, a supporter of ‘traditional marriage’. We spoke for a while and I told her something of my story. I resisted asking why she uses the words ‘traditional marriage’ when marriage has changed so much over the centuries. Others sitting around me were familiar from Shared Conversations or from my time on the steps of Church House.

I spoke to the staff in charge of keeping order in the gallery; they weren’t really expecting any trouble (and we behaved impeccably – apparently someone in the morning had a banana confiscated, but we weren’t as daring as that!). One said ‘I don’t see the problem – two brides, two grooms, what does it matter?’ Another agreed and said they’d be ‘praying into’ the debate.

The debate was interesting; one of the best I’ve heard in GS, either from my years there or from listening online since. It was firmly chaired, which was a mercy as I don’t think I could have managed to listen to much more from the one speaker who had to be stopped at the three-minute time limit (we had reached something about excommunicating people, so I think we may have been in the wrong church there…).

Highlights?

  • A speaker on the use of the language of ‘welcoming’ LGBTI+ people as wrong because it’s suggesting we (straight married people) are inviting other people into our home, but it’s not, it’s their home too. Nobody needs to be welcomed into their own home!
  • A speaker on his fraught relationship with another person on GS who disapproves of his civil partnership, and who drew on Genesis 32:6, ‘I will not let you go, unless you bless me.’
  • A deaf speaker on what it feels like to be excluded; and a BAME speaker on the difference between being excluded because of something visible to others, and being excluded because of something unseen by them.
  • Lay speakers on how, if they are in civil partnerships with clergy, they find the special rules for clergy (basically, no sex in the relationship, whatever ‘sex’ means) affect them too; how had I not thought of that before, when I’ve met clergy with lay partners?
  • The result: the vote against ‘taking note’ of the report, and the clear message that sends to the House of Bishops who endorsed it.

Lowlight?

Other than the excommunication speech, that has to be the attempts of the House of Bishops to maintain collegiality regardless. The motion was passed in that house with one vote against, and the errant bishop promptly apologised because he had pressed the wrong button. Apart from the excellent joke which that generated – about how one should never get in a lift with him if one wants to get anywhere – this was depressing. Why did the bishops decide that, regardless of their own opinions, this theologically weak and pastorally insensitive report, which – as many speakers observed – does not reflect the Shared Conversations, was worth supporting as the next step (backwards?) on our journey? Some insisted that the words ‘maximum freedom’ used in the report were key – it’s too much effort to change canon law (er, but we do, in other cases) and it wouldn’t get a two-thirds majority (possibly true) so let’s be as free as we can within the bounds of canon law. I suspect that those opposed to further inclusion – even the very mild version in which clergy would be as free to bless a civilly-partnered gay couple as they are to bless a fox hunt or a warship – were alarmed by ‘maximum freedom’. The rest of us felt that there wasn’t much freedom on offer.

It doesn’t feel right to have a House of Bishops where nobody dares to step out of line. One of the people I met on the steps, someone who like me used to be a member of GS, observed that back in our day the voting of the bishops reflected disagreement, seriously-argued theological disagreement. Interested in this point, I looked back at the voting patterns of the House of Bishops. In November 1984, on the motion asking for the Standing Committee to bring forward legislation to permit the ordination of women to the priesthood in the Provinces of Canterbury and York, the bishops were in favour, 41-6. In 1992, when all three houses approved the women priests measure by the necessary two-thirds majority, the bishops voted in favour 39-13. Most recently, on women bishops, the bishops voted in favour 37-2 (one abstention). No sense of the need to be collegial. No three-line whip.

Do the bishops think nobody will take them seriously unless they speak with one voice? For me, the reverse is the case.

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So, what was the point of all that?

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Last week the House of Bishops published GS2055 Marriage and Same Sex Relationships after the Shared Conversations. I immediately read it through twice, once to see what they were proposing to change – answer, nothing – and again to see how they managed to come up with that conclusion. I’ve just read it all again.

My initial reaction is to ask why we had the diocesan Shared Conversations. I found my experience of these, as a straight, married, ally, draining but also inspiring. I met some wonderful people and heard their stories. I was shocked to find that there are members of my wider church who not only don’t believe a woman can preach or lead (I knew about that already) but also don’t believe that anyone should be married if they are divorced with a partner still living. As someone in those categories, I found it more painful than anticipated, but of course my pain is nothing compared to that of LGBT+ people whose whole identity was denied by some present, and seen as a sin in need of repentance. I also realized, from the deeper conversations in groups of three, that our stories are rarely simple – if we are honest about them. Having been there, I do understand why GS2055 uses the wording ‘lesbian and gay people and those who experience same sex attraction’, which many LGBT+ people, especially if they’ve been through the abuse of ‘deliverance ministry’, find deeply offensive; what the bishops are trying to do here is to include in the same sentence both those who are sure that they have been created by God as lesbian or gay, and those who think this is impossible/wrong and who therefore try to be ‘delivered’ or who enter into a relationship with someone of the opposite sex. If it’s so difficult to include both groups in one sentence, you can see why it’s difficult to include them both in a bishops’ report.

But I don’t see any sign in GS2055 that the experiences of the diocesan Shared Conversations have been taken on board. They are mentioned in the preamble as ‘help[ing] prepare us all … to address together the challenges we face’. Sorry, but that’s waffle. There were no reports from the diocesan events; in my diocese, there has been no further sharing. Perhaps, since they ended, people who have the ear of their bishop have been meeting to chat about it all over coffee? But I’m not clergy, I don’t work for the church, and I’m not on General or Diocesan Synod, so I don’t have coffee with any bishops.

The report is big on the bishops’ claims that they ‘recognize [their] deficiencies’ and that they have spent a lot of time in prayer. They don’t have a monopoly on that. The report starts with a nod to the Bible, but it’s an odd one: Galatians 2.19 ff on Paul being ‘crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me’. I felt that a reference to us as crucified didn’t bode well for what the report was about to do to LGBT+ Christians… Then there’s the standard Anglican mention of scripture, tradition and reason, the last of the three developed here as ‘the ways that changing approaches to human knowledge and reason inform or challenge the Christian faith as we have received it’. I feel that this is an area which the bishops have avoided addressing properly.

The rest of the document reads like a balancing act or, perhaps, a juggling performance. The bishops talk about the difficulty of ‘holding together’ (para 5) and Anglicanism as a ‘contested tradition’ (para 8). The image I’ve used for this blog post is ‘Juggling with balls and knives’. Will the bishops be able to keep all those balls of canon law in the air? Annex 1 gives the legal advice they received; the handy Canon B5.2 which allows a minister to use ‘forms of service considered suitable by him [sic]’ if there’s nothing in the Book of Common Prayer or approved by General Synod for the occasion. Aha! A loophole! But no: Canon B5.3 says that ‘he’ can only do that if it is not ‘contrary to, or indicative of any departure from, the doctrine of the Church of England in any essential matter’. And there we have it. Canon B30.1 says that marriage is ‘in its nature a union permanent and lifelong, for better for worse, till death them do part, of one man with one woman … for the procreation and nurture of children’ (although as far as I know nobody in the church thinks that the absence of children means it’s not a marriage). And the 2005 statement on civil partnerships (quoted in Annex 1, para 9) states that ‘sexual relationships outside marriage’ fall ‘short of God’s purposes for human beings’. Whatever ‘sexual relationships’ means: I’ve written elsewhere on this blog about the church’s inability to engage with what ‘sex’ is, and I don’t think I can stand making any more comment about this.

I wonder whether some of the weirdness of GS2055 comes from juxtaposing paragraphs from bishops with different views. But I suspect it’s because they are trying to come up with lots of reasons for doing nothing. They claim that this report moves us towards ‘a fresh tone and culture of welcome and support’ for LGBT+ people; nobody I know who’s lesbian or gay (bi and trans people, as ever in the C of E, don’t feature in the report) finds that at all convincing. The bishops say they ‘seek to make steps together that will allow us to act together while retaining doctrinal coherency’ (para 10). But, as my husband often says, ‘Just remember that the thing you’re trying to do may be impossible’.

 

 

 

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Reading the comments

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In a couple of contexts in the last week, people I follow on Facebook or Twitter have linked to a story about sexuality and the church but warned their friends or followers that it’s a bad idea to read the comments. Indeed! And this is hardly unique to the equal marriage debate; a few months ago I was taken aback by some comments about my appearance which appeared following a work video I’d made, comments which seemed to be suggesting that only the young and beautiful should ever be visible, and which I very much doubt the authors would have made to my face. As far too many people have discovered to their cost, there is something about the internet which encourages people to repeat their views without necessarily even trying to engage with the specifics of the story above the comments line, to be very shouty, and not to be concerned with causing offence (or to cause as much offence as they can).

One of the reasons why I found the Shared Conversations process so powerful was precisely because being present in the same space as people with whom one disagrees – and not even being able to go home in the evening, but to be resident with them for a couple of nights – makes it so much harder to do the shouty thing. While there are always people who manage to shout even in these circumstances, the presence of the excellent trained facilitators meant that anyone inclined to shout was deterred.

Over Christmas I watched the new episodes of Marigold Hotel on Tour. If you’ve not seen this, it’s a spin-off from an unexpectedly popular series in which a diverse group of older celebrities went to India to find out if this would be a good place to which to retire. Two of them are openly gay – Miriam Margolyes and Wayne Sleep. In the new episodes, set in Florida and Osaka, they asked local gay people specifically about how they felt other members of the senior-citizen developments or communities in which they lived reacted to their presence. This reminded me of a story earlier this year about whether retirement homes in the USA were good places for gay people to live; it made disturbing reading.

In the Florida episode, the two women in the group were concerned about the then-imminent US presidential elections and were looking for Democrats, which turned out to be a difficult quest in a particularly upmarket retirement community. One Republican was highly offensive and shouty and Miriam responded by telling him so. There was no attempt by either of them to understand why the other held the views they did. The way this was presented on the programme, the man had simply come up and, uninvited, injected his views into the conversation that was already happening. This reminded of me of some Comments threads I’ve read where people whose position is nowhere near that of the CofE on anything are busy telling those of us who are members what we should be doing…

Some of the criticism levelled at the past year’s CofE Shared Conversations process has been on the grounds that the daily schedule didn’t include any attempt to go through the various passages in the Bible which are drawn upon to support the different sides of the equal marriage debate. And there’s truth in that. Looking at the comments on various stories on Christian news sites, though, I wonder how it could ever have happened: saying ‘it says in this verse…’ and getting the response ‘yes but you’re ignoring the context/mistranslating the Greek/not seeing the bigger picture’ is not a dialogue: it goes nowhere, and we’ve been having it for decades. By meeting those with whom we disagree, eating with them, talking to them, hearing them, truly recognising them as fellow Christians – that’s where being shouty starts to calm down. However, the feelings in this debate are so strong that even the central Christian place of meeting together – sharing the Eucharist – has not always been possible at SC meetings.

in a well-publicised case of someone meeting the person who had used highly offensive language about her online – Mary Beard and a young man who tweeted about her – there seems to have been some genuine reconciliation. Mary commented to the journalist, “Please don’t overplay this. I am just a sensible middle-aged woman who does what sensible middle-aged women do: move on.”

What is the worst thing that could happen if the CofE allows those whose conscience permits it to solemnise equal marriages in church buildings and treats LGBTI people offering for, or in, ministry in the same way as other people? Can a sensible middle-aged church move on in 2017?

 

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Into Advent

 

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I’m trying to take Advent seriously this year by immersing myself as far as I can in the rich symbolism of watching and waiting, of light and darkness, of hope and fulfillment. So naturally it had to begin with this evening’s Advent Carol Service.

As part of this service we were all invited to come to the front to have our tea-light lit and put on to a circular tray of sand (flames in church can be risky – twice in my life I’ve been at services where there were individual candles in sort of cardboard shields, which caught fire!). When you are taught to meditate, a burning candle is often suggested as the focus, the point to which you return when your mind goes off track.
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Pouring the lay?

I know. Not the most accessible of titles for a blog post. But that’s very much my point…

Back when I was doing the diocesan training for being an authorised lay preacher (a role which exists in my diocese and which involves taking quite a lot of the licensed lay minister training, but for this more restricted role), I had to do a module called ‘Learning to learn and think theologically’. That’s quite a mouthful. It merged basic study skills, which I didn’t need but some did, with an introduction to theological learning, which I needed and some didn’t. This second aspect was very well taught and I found it fascinating.

I was particularly struck by the way it was brought home to me just how much of our theology is picked up from hymns. If you’ve been going to church, give or take a few years, since you were a child, a lot will have seeped in, just from repetition of the words and, if you’re lucky, from a strong tune as well. However, hymns – like anything else in and around a church – can also exhibit some fairly dodgy theology. They are a product of the theological and social preferences of their time, as the more gory, often-Victorian examples make particularly clear; singing ‘stricken rock with streaming side’ (from Lord enthroned in heavenly splendour, 1874) feels quite uncomfortable today, while There is a fountain filled with blood (1772) or O now I see the cleansing wave/The fountain deep and wide (1871) with its ‘speaking blood’ come across as plain weird. Continue reading

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One sex, two sexes, and Christians

The wonderful Twitter just drew my attention to this article I’d missed on the OUP blog when it was published in July: ‘The influence of premodern theories about sex and gender’ by Adrian Thatcher.

Thatcher asks great questions about why the world and the church still haven’t given women equality, why we don’t just accept intersex and transgender people ‘as they are’, and why ‘millions of straight people’ have ‘visceral reactions’ to same-gender attraction. To answer these questions, he outlines a historical shift away from ‘the ancient world’, which he presents as functioning with a continuum model of gender with women located at the weak/cool/less rational/less perfect end of that continuum. He doesn’t give any references but the main ancient Greek statement for the continuum model comes in a treatise called On Seed/On the Nature of the Child (some extracts here) and the underlying theory applied by Thatcher comes straight from Thomas Laqueur’s Making Sex (1990). Like Laqueur, Thatcher goes for an early modern shift (Laqueur called it a ‘watershed’) between this more fluid model and the emergence of the idea of ‘two “opposite” sexes’, and he links it to ‘advances in anatomy and microscopy’ meaning that ‘the basis of biological differences began to be better understood’.

Bodies ancient and modern

I should be sympathetic to Thatcher’s argument that most people read back the ‘two-sex model’ of difference into the Bible, without realising that it’s a model that only goes back a few centuries. And I am, sort of, and I like his initial caution in presenting this – ‘But there are answers! This is how one of them goes’ (my italics). Despite that caution, however, he still seems to buy into his own/Laqueur’s binary, the idea of a one-sex model (‘the ancient theory’) and a two-sex model (‘the modern theory’). Thatcher presents ‘the ancient theory’ as one which ‘asserted a common humanity’ – hmm, not necessarily, and there’s no reference here, for example, to the influence of Hesiod’s Pandora as the first of the ‘race of women’, which doesn’t major on ‘common’ anything. Continue reading

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Temple prostitution for Christians

Sex in the ancient world: it’s all about temple prostitutes, depraved emperors and orgies, right? Wrong.

As readers of this blog will have noticed, now that the Shared Conversations in the Church of England appear to be over, I’ve moved towards using it to reflect on where my life and faith meet: where the day job in classical studies collides with/illuminates current discussions on sexuality. Today, I’d like to argue for a more balanced view of ‘pagan worship/pagan practices’ in the Greco-Roman world within which Christianity spread. It feels slightly odd to be standing up for ancient paganism, but I’ll try anyway. Specifically: from reading recent online discussions, I want to point out, first, that the hypersexed pagan temple is a myth – priestesses ‘routinely’ having sex, auctions of brides and temple prostitutes are all equally imaginary (see Beard and Henderson) – and second, ancient Greek and Roman paganism was nowhere near as wild as it comes across in some contemporary Christian imaginations; indeed, it majored on monogamy.

By Henryk Siemiradzki - http://fotki.yandex.ru/users/hds-shah/view/187521/?page=6, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9462693

Henryk Siemiradzki, Roman orgy at Caesar’s time, 1872 (https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9462693)

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Sharing the knowledge

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Can we see each other properly? And can we stay together? These are challenging questions which have come to the fore for me this week.

All of us who took part in the regional Shared Conversations signed up – literally signed – the St Michael’s House Protocols, which set the parameters for the safe space in which we talked. I found this was a very solemn moment. For me, it marked the point at which it all became very serious indeed.

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As well as committing us to protecting the identities of others in our Conversation, looking for shared interests, separating people from the problem, actively listening to others, and telling our stories, the Protocols encourage us where possible to share our knowledge and understanding  from taking part. I see this blog as part of that; so far it’s had over 3000 views. I also offered to speak to my deanery synod, an offer that was welcomed, and earlier this week I spoke to an evening event in my parish, open to anyone in our team ministry.

Talking in the parish

Many of those who came along to this event were members of a particular home group where the leader had encouraged them to read one of my earliest posts as part of their reflections on ways of reading the Bible. Others were individuals who, I know, have found the blog interesting. I kept the event deliberately ‘safe’, opening with a description of what the Shared Conversations were for, and what had happened at the one I attended. I then did an exercise based on the one I described in ‘Fruit or Chocolate?’ to illustrate the point that people take up a position in a debate, or embrace a label, for very different and often unpredictable reasons. After that, we had a discussion.

I found the event very interesting, and I’ve had positive feedback. In keeping with the spirit of the Protocols I won’t say anything about individuals. But, generalizing from the evening and from comments from one of those attending about how they hadn’t found much interest in it from those in their church, a couple of points became clear.

Seeing the invisible

First, in many pretty standard parishes of the C of E, our response to LGBT+ people and in particular to same-sex couples, married or in civil partnership, just isn’t thought worth discussing. Not because of any negative reactions, not from any theological position, but just because such people aren’t visible to us. It’s ‘not our problem’. And maybe that’s why there are still people in our parishes who, despite various newspapers featuring the Shared Conversations, have never heard of this process. Of course, when it comes to couples seeking to have their union blessed, the known opposition of the C of E means that they’re not likely to come near their parish church in this particular situation.

Yet many people are aware of LGBT+ people in their families or among their friends. Others, interestingly, aren’t, and say they don’t know anyone like this. Some of us see: others don’t. And this brings me to my second observation. I no longer believe in ‘gaydar’, that firm sense that someone ‘must be’ gay, but I’m still surprised that the undoubted presence of gay people in our congregations somehow isn’t seen by everyone.

Those who came to the event this week were interested to hear things they didn’t know about the C of E, for example the rules about clergy not being allowed to be in same-sex relationships. This made me wonder why we don’t all know this already.They wanted to reflect further on what we mean by ‘sexuality’; how far are our identities fixed, and how flexible are they? As we fall in love with a person because of who that person is, can we fall in love with someone of the same sex when we identify as heterosexual – and vice versa? It’s great that the current debates have made it possible for Christians to think about these questions.

Better together?

On the Big Question, will the C of E find a way to hold together or will it split, I found surprising one of the articles on the Shared Conversations in Christian Today earlier this week. The journalist presents the SCs as a ‘desperate programme’ to hold the church together – but something which has been going on in every diocese over the course of a full year doesn’t meet my definition of ‘desperation’. He interviewed separately two of my fellow Shared Conversationalists from Oxford diocese, Jayne Ozanne and Andrew Symes, and despite their very different views on LGBT+ issues both are quoted as saying that they think a split is inevitable.

While I appreciate Jayne’s “Quite frankly I do not want to be breaking bread with someone who thinks I am going to hell”, in the C of E nobody with access to transport has to put herself in that situation. There’s a long history of people moving to the next parish along, whether that’s set off by a new vicar, a change to the pattern of services,  the presence or absence of a choir, or reordering of the building. As I said at the parish event this week, I came away from the Shared Conversations feeling strongly that I didn’t want to lose my fellowship with some of the lovely people I’d met who disagree with me completely and passionately on the inclusion of LGBT+ people, both those with ‘same-sex orientation’ and those in full relationships.

There are people in the C of E who still won’t accept the ministry of women priests, the authority of women bishops, or women of any kind preaching. I wouldn’t flourish in a church where this was the norm. Yet when I’m volunteering as a Street Pastor, I work in teams including members from churches where women are not given authority to lead. Is the current issue really so different? Is a similar accommodation possible?

 

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Pausanias and Agathon: a ‘same sex relationship’?

Thinking Anglicans notes that the Evangelical Group of the General Synod, EGGS, has issued this briefing document to its members and friends ahead of General Synod’s shared conversations, scheduled to start on 10 July. The document proposes that “The ideas/opinions/statements expressed (in bold) are amongst those that members might hear articulated and which we believe can (and need) to be responded to. The thoughts/responses offered are a resource from the (elected members of) the Committee to help reflection on the likely issues and questions.”

Like other commentators on this document, I’m not sure the ‘if you hear that, respond like this’ format is very helpful; if you’re listening out for the trigger words of a particular dodgy statement, will you really hear what someone is saying to you? But I’ve a deeper concern, and that regards something I’ve commented on already in this blog: the use of the ancient Greeks without any sense of historical context. This, I think, is systematic of the casual use of history by some Christians, and it contributes to a rejection of Christianity, as something requiring believers to leave their brains outside the church door.

The section of the document I have in mind is a potential response to someone expressing the view that ‘Scripture isn’t clear on a number of issues regarding human sexuality’ and it goes like this: “Some have suggested that faithful same sex relationships were not known in (pre) biblical times and therefore the bible is silent on this matter. This is not true: such relationships are acknowledged by Plato and others, and it is likely that Alexander the Great was in a same sex relationship with Hephaestion, as was Pausanius with poet Agathon.” Continue reading

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Gender at the Shared Conversations

There’s been quite a lot of reflection on sexuality on this blog already, but here I want to turn to gender and to focus on my experience in the Regional Shared Conversations, as a woman. My thanks to the various friends whose questions about it all have helped me to think this aspect through!

Gender: what’s changed?

When we think about our church’s response to the varieties of human sexuality, I do think it’s useful to keep in mind today the debates around the ordination of women. I was involved in those as a lay woman, as a member of the Movement for the Ordination of Women, and as a member of the C of E’s decision-making body, the General Synod. Two aspects of my experience stand out for me: first, the need to overcome a view of myself as somehow inferior just by being embodied as a woman, and second, the need to make it clear that my commitment to the ordination of women was not motivated by any personal ambition. Ambition, of course, is a Bad Word in the church, to be denied at all costs.

Historically, and even now, women’s bodies have been represented as impure and carrying taint. During the time when the ordination of women question was live, a debate was broadcast on television from All Souls, Langham Place. I’ve tried and failed to find any reference to it beyond my own memory, which includes hearing a speaker propose that women could never be priests, because they menstruate. Continue reading

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