A valediction, forbidding mourning

Tell not the laity of a schism … we endure not yet a breach

If you believe the established press the Anglican church has finally schism’d, with Sydney-aligned operatives in Queensland breaking glass on the breakaway Gafcon diocese.

Let’s be clear: this has precisely zero impact on Melbourne diocese, where different kinds of Anglicans co-exist mostly happily, united by broad Anglican principle and a universal desire to see central payroll fixed. Recent synod motions regarding unity go deeper than just words: we infuriate each other, but nobody wants to see anyone out in the cold. Evangelicals are growing in number and the next archbishop will probably be from that side of the aisle, but saving the lost not confiscating candlesticks will be the priority.

Yet even so, many I talk to here in Melbourne have complicated feelings about the Diocese of the Southern Cross (and not just the images of sun burnt shoulder tattoos it inspires). It’s always hard when Christians go their separate ways. I still remember with pain every word of conversations in which parishioners told me they were leaving ‘my’ church – whatever the reasons. The indignant commentary I’ve heard directed towards those who have chosen to leave an Anglican parish to plant a new congregation in an RSL is as natural and understandable as it is absurd. ‘How dare you leave us … we … we never wanted you here anyway.’

But while it is sad, we cannot mourn what we never had. And we must not mourn what we cannot lose.

We cannot mourn what we never had. The monolithic national church that the journalists are writing obituaries for has never existed – and that may be the secret to Australian Anglicanism’s strength and resilience. For all the impressive cathedrals and imported pomp, Anglicanism is essentially a bottom-up beast. Clergy are minimally accountable to their trusty local Bishop, and governed by a Synod of clergy and elected lay representatives, and that is where the hierarchy peters out. (Pardon the pun.) This is by design. It is a theologically-driven prioritisation of congregation over centre, and Scripture over institution that reflects the reformation origins of our foundational documents and our historic break from the authority of Rome and her councils (see Articles XIX-XXI).

Beyond this, what strength of relationship each diocese has with each other depends on their appetite for cooperation. The instruments of unity we have in this country between dioceses are very light-touch, and depend on the moral authority that can only come from personal respect and courageous adherence to principle.

Personal respect and courageous adherence to principle are, I think it’s fair to say, not at all time highs. And so the national Anglican structures of unity are not really load-bearing right now.

• For example, the last time every diocese could agree on a prayer book, the instrument of unity Anglicanism should care about most, was 1978. Since then no revision has been universally adopted, but nobody has had the patience, or principled constitutionalism, to let that get in the way of liturgical innovation. This doesn’t seem to bother anyone particularly, so we all just get on with it (and I try my hardest to remember to say the APBA Lord’s Prayer, not the AAPB one I grew up with).

• For example, the last time each diocese could recognise each other’s holy orders was probably in the early 1990s when some, but not all, dioceses began ordaining women as priests. But even as an ordained man, in practice if I moved to Brisbane diocese I would have better luck passing as a baptist than being licensed by the current Archbishop. Why? Some fundamental personal flaw he knows about? No. Simply because I was taught Greek and Hebrew at Moore College, a reformed evangelical institution not to his liking. (In fairness, it goes both ways: if I had studied at St Francis and tried to get a job in Sydney they’d make me study at Moore for 1–2 years too.) It’s hard for me to condemn clergy who feel they cannot work within the Brisbane diocese for leaving, when I could not work within the Brisbane diocese even if I wanted to.

• For example, the last time we could reasonably have confidence that the mechanisms of the national synod meant something was when two separate institutions failed to rein in overexcited bishops wanting to change the Anglican doctrine of marriage without waiting for anyone outside their diocese to agree. First, the appellate tribunal made the implausible finding that the Anglican church doesn’t have a doctrine of marriage (and, they added, the Anglican doctrine of marriage we have needs to change with the times anyway). Then, a majority of the house of bishops at general (national) synod opted for the signature Anglican move of kicking the tricky can down the road for someone else to deal with after they retire. So all Israel went back to its tents equally dissatisfied, without any resolution on the issue.

Now, we might lament the lack of centralisation. But in the absence of a royal edict requiring uniformity of worship throughout the land, this is probably the way it should be. If my local bishop can’t in good conscience license me, or I can’t in good conscience get on board his vision for the church, then the great thing about Christian freedom is I don’t have to give up my eternal salvation, I can just join another church down the road. At least the Southern Cross diocese means I don’t have to become an independent baptist – or worse, an American megachurch pastor who is accountable to nobody.

Let’s not pretend that this is some almighty edifice that has crumbled. We should not mourn too much for something that, by design and by choice, never existed.

More importantly, we should not mourn for what cannot be lost. My Catholic friends lament this as yet more schism in the church of God. But that is not how Anglicans see the church. In Article XIX we nail our ecclesiological colours to the mast:

The visible Church of Christ is a congregation of faithful men [sic], in the which the pure Word of God is preached, and the Sacraments be duly ministered according to Christ's ordinance in all those things that of necessity are requisite to the same.

There are loads of denominations and dioceses in the world I couldn’t work within, but as an Anglican I still see them as part of the visible church of Christ.

For example, I love baptists, but if I applied for a job at a baptist church at some point the fact that I was baptised with a 5-star-water-efficiency sprinkle as a baby will come up, and they are going to want me to be baptised ‘properly' … based on their deeply held convictions. I’m never going to do that … for different deeply held reasons (I don’t think the kingdom of heaven has a minimum height requirement). I rejoice to see baptist churches flourish. I visit. I teach their trainees Old Testament. I pray for them. I just can’t be a baptist pastor.

They are still part of me, because I am in Christ, and they are in Christ, and there is only one Christ. There is no schism. There can be no schism. We are bound together by cords that cannot be broken by disagreement.

What is true of baptists is true of those 40 Anglicans in the RSL, and indeed of those who remain in the building they gave up. Our fellowship with them is intact.

In Acts 15:39 Paul and Barnabas, long term gospel partners, had a big controversy and so parted company on their missionary journey. This must have been painful. But this was not a schism, for their unity was something far deeper than their missionary enterprise. And so the believers commended them to the grace of God.

While I will not mourn what has not been lost, I am sad. And will commend all to the grace of God.