Institutional investment and the safeguarding disasters of the Church of England

BY STEPHEN KUHRT

A fascinating (non) conversation

Some years ago, I observed a fascinating interaction on Facebook. Yet another safeguarding disaster within the Church of England had just been revealed — significantly, I cannot remember which one — and two church leaders were commenting on the general issue. One was Pete Broadbent, then Bishop of Willesden; the other was Jeremy Duff, then Principal of St Padarn’s Institute in Wales. Both are people I know, like and respect.

They were clearly disturbed by the story, and their comments reflected a genuine perplexity. Bishop Pete, with a certain degree of anguish, asked: ‘Why is it that the C of E simply cannot get its act together on safeguarding?!!’

After observing a little back-and-forth on the issue, I felt compelled to intervene. My contribution was to suggest that the very way the question was being framed pointed towards its answer. Both Pete and Jeremy were speaking as though safeguarding were a discrete area of church life that could be dealt with in isolation from the Church of England as a whole.

This approach, I suggested, could never produce anything more than cosmetic change to the church’s safeguarding because it refused to go anywhere near the fundamental and wider cultural issues that had facilitated such disasters. The response, as so often happens when searching questions are put to people deeply invested in institutions, was one of deafening silence.

If Pete and Jeremy were interested in exploring this understanding of safeguarding within the Church of England — and I hope, in their deepest souls, they were and are — they certainly did not show it.

A culture that refuses to confront any difficult issue properly.

This (non) conversation was just one of many factors that eventually led me, nearly a year ago now, to publish my book Safeguarding the Institution: How the Culture of the Church of England Facilitates Abuse. In the book, I seek to examine how almost every aspect of the culture of the Church of England has contributed to its safeguarding disasters.

These disasters, I argue, are simply the most terrible consequences of a basic culture that refuses to confront any difficult issues properly.

But the key point uniting the book’s different themes is this: the refusal to confront difficult issues exists because, for too many people in the Church of England, preserving the institution — and, crucially, their personal investment in that institution — is ultimately what matters most.

Not biting the hand that feeds you

The issues involved here can be summed up by the familiar saying about not biting the hand that feeds you. In this saying, ‘the hand’ represents a benefactor, such as an employer or a helpful organisation; ‘feeding’ represents the provision of necessities such as money, shelter, employment or general kindness; and to ‘bite’ represents criticising, disrespecting or actively working against those providing these things.

This is very relevant to the Church of England because, like all institutions, it fosters ‘loyalty’ by ensuring that sufficient rewards come to those who are invested in maintaining it.

Rewards of status

Recently, the Diocese of Southwark announced the appointment of a new set of Honorary Canons to the Cathedral. In one sense, the role is utterly meaningless. But for clergy anxious for prestige and status, it is an important symbol because it publicly demonstrates that the bishop and diocese regard you as ‘one of us’.

Significantly, the report in The Bridge, the newspaper of the Diocese of Southwark, said that the recipients had been awarded this honour because of ‘their service to the diocese’. The phrase was telling – not because of their ministries, not because of their service to people, but because of their service to an institution.

The relationship between such ‘gongs’ and safeguarding disasters can sometimes be very direct. One of the incidents covered in Safeguarding the Institution was the scandalous appointment of David Tudor as an Honorary Canon to Chelmsford Cathedral while Stephen Cottrell, now Archbishop of York, was bishop of the diocese. Tudor’s past abuse was known to Cottrell when he permitted the appointment, but the cultural instinct to reward those prepared to prop up the institution was simply too strong.

As I commented in my book: ‘This left little room for questioning the significance of rewarding someone like David Tudor, whose more sinister agenda involved being equally invested in the institution.’

But the terrible impact of such rewards of status within the Church of England is usually much more subtle. Positions such as Honorary Canon, and their numerous equivalents — Bishop’s Adviser on Estates Ministry, Bishop’s Adviser on Urban Ministry and so on — reward conformity and encourage ‘the love that asks no questions’ of the institution.

The result is the development of bizarre subcultural ‘norms’: most obviously, an urbane and agreeable acceptance of dysfunctional incompetence within the church. And this, in turn, leads very directly to its most terrible safeguarding disasters.

Rewards of money and the curse of the DINCY

Disturbingly, the rewards for propping up the institution of the Church of England also include substantial financial benefits.

Before the legislation for women bishops was passed, I was one of the most enthusiastic advocates of the change. From a theological point of view, I still am. What I did not anticipate as I campaigned for women bishops, however, was the extent to which the vast majority of them would reinforce rather than challenge the institutional status quo.

Before the crucial vote, I gave an interview to the BBC in which I said that women bishops would change the church forever because it would be like opening the windows in a stuffy room. So far, this prediction has proved wrong.

Exceptions undoubtedly exist, such as the Bishop of Newcastle, Helen-Ann Hartley, who was extraordinarily brave in calling for the resignation of Justin Welby after the revelations about John Smyth. Hartley suffered a great deal of ostracization from her fellow bishops as a result.

But, on the whole, the overriding priority of most women bishops appears to be demonstrating loyalty to the institution that facilitated their admittance.

The problem here is connected to what might be described as ‘the curse of the DINCY’. Back in the mid to late 1980s, as well as hearing about YUPPIEs — ‘young, urban professionals’ — it was common to hear references to DINKYs — ‘double income, no kids yet’.

Quietly and subtly, much of the preservation of the institutional status quo of the Church of England is achieved through its fostering of its own DINCYs, this time standing for: ‘double income, no conscience yet’.

This is shown most obviously by some of those appointed as women bishops. Time and again, when the first tranche of women bishops was announced, it soon became apparent that a very significant number of them were married to men already holding senior clerical or lay positions within the Church of England. The same is true of a number of its archdeacons.

When a couple have two incomes and often a home provided by the same institution, the scale of their investment can make it extremely difficult for either to maintain a properly critical attitude towards that institution. Conversations at home, in which a clerical couple moan about their ‘problems’ and ‘challenges’, can very easily disguise the fact that both are deeply invested in the cultural status quo of the Church of England and in not ‘rocking the boat’ that has facilitated their steady advance and growing security.

Numerous other financial benefits exist for those clergy who want to ‘play the system’ in the Church of England and exploit these opportunities. The basic deal is to be discreet about this and, even more, to show an unwavering loyalty to the institution that has provided these benefits. A large part of this can be covered by regularly taking to social media to tell the world how wonderful your bishop is. Another part is consistently talking up the church and refusing to have anything to do with ‘negativity’ about it.    

Rewards of comfort

The ultimate reward for conformity with the institution of the Church of England, however, goes deeper than status or finance. More than anything, it is about basic comfort.

This is where local churches, their clergy and lay members are every bit as culpable for the safeguarding disasters of the church as its senior leaders. The tragic truth is that most Christians in this country will turn a blind eye to almost anything if the alternative is that their own lives become the slightest bit more uncomfortable.

It may seem shocking to state it so baldly but finding a place of undisturbed comfort often appears to be a major reason why many become clergy in the first place. If you have a job that is demanding and difficult and you are a Christian, one possible escape from that situation is to get ordained.

In return, you receive a sufficient income and pension, position and status within the local community and, crucially, a job that is almost entirely unaccountable in terms of performance. There is, however, one caveat to the latter: you must on no account challenge or threaten the status quo.

Collude with the status quo within the Church of England — and even exploit it to terrible effect — and there is almost nothing you cannot do, at least until your crimes become public.

Challenge the status quo, however, and the previously smiling and urbane bishops and archdeacons become extraordinarily vicious.

Anyone who has experienced the Clergy Discipline Measure will recognise that its nature and, more importantly, its most common use is almost entirely shaped by this agenda. In most cases, the process itself (prolonged as much as possible) is the punishment for clergy who have dared to step out of line. Mr Smith goes to Washington and Claude Raines’ brilliant portrayal of Senator Paine is the film to watch if you want to understand this more fully.

The impact of this on safeguarding

The Church of England is full of people who were originally good but who become bad, and sometimes horrendous in their impact, through their refusal to ask difficult questions about the institution they have joined. I was at theological college with a number of them.

The institution itself consciously facilitates this, principally through the immense rewards on offer to those prepared to be recruited to this agenda.

But, whatever the temptations involved, truth cannot be suppressed so easily. I know more clergy who are depressed than those who are not, and my only explanation for this is that, deep down, they know they are ‘going into bat for the wrong side’.

All the status, financial rewards and basic comfort cannot ultimately conceal that truth.

The dreadful safeguarding record of the Church of England will only improve when the church is prepared to confront its basic culture — and, in particular, the way it consistently rewards those who buy into and prop up its institutional status quo.