Anglican angst on gay marriage
Meddling from the ultra-conservative Sydney diocese over same-sex marriage blessings has caused some in the ruptured Anglican Church in New Zealand to cry foul. Pete McKenzie reports.
In 2018, a bitter argument over same-sex marriages fractured the Anglican Church in Aotearoa New Zealand & Polynesia (ACANZP). In the two years since, the dispute has polarised hundreds of thousands of Anglicans, broken apart congregations, been plagued with accusations of Australian interference and been held up as a possible sign of a terminal rift for that organised religion in Aotearoa.
The formal word for this is ‘‘schism’’ – the rupturing of a church into factions. ‘‘To get to a situation where the church is in schism and where people feel unable to share communion with one another is very serious,’’ observed James Harding, senior lecturer in theology at Otago University. ‘‘It’s kind of like a divorce. It has that level of pain.’’
It all revolved around the arcane question of whether Anglican clergy could bless same-sex marriages – which is different to whether clergy can officiate such marriages.
Geoff Troughton, senior lecturer in religious studies at Victoria University, laughed as he explained the difference.
‘‘It’s these fine distinctions which matter within the church. It’s a balancing act. A same-sex marriage might be conducted legally by the state, and the church won’t conduct that rite. But it might then say you’ve contracted that legal marriage, and we’re prepared to recognise and bless it.’’
Blessings give marriages religious legitimacy; religious legitimacy confers support and power. ‘‘When [the church] said they could bless same-sex marriages, it meant these marriages were fit and proper relationships,’’ explained Peter Lineham, emeritus professor of history at Massey University. ‘‘It therefore became possible to ordain gay clergy.’’
Accordingly, same-sex blessings will significantly change the church’s treatment of takata¯pui (LGBTQ+) communities. It’s an important evolution for Anglicanism, and Christianity more generally. Once the country’s dominant religious movement, since 2006 the number of self-identified Anglicans in Aotearoa has almost halved to just 315,000.
That is partly because of the departure of people like Stephen Attwood, a former lay preacher in the church. ‘‘I haven’t returned to religion since [I came out]. I’ve found a position in my own mind about… spirituality, Christianity and faith and works.’’ Facing similar declines, other Christian denominations have focused intently on Anglicanism’s struggle over whether it should – and could – modernise.
In interviews, Jay Behan’s eyebrows plunge up and down as if operating independently from his face. They bind into knots during questions and bounce around through his answers. It gives the impression he’s working out difficult theological questions – he’s almost always confronted by difficult theological questions – in real time.
He’s not, of course. Behan has been involved in the church his whole life. His father, a strongminded evangelical from Northern England, moved to Christchurch and became the popular minister of St John’s Latimer Square. Behan followed his father into the clergy and became the vicar of St Stephen’s Church – a run-down building with a vibrant congregation – in the white, working-class suburb of Shirley.
Behan entered Anglican politics at its most contentious. He attended General Synod – a biannual meeting best described as Aotearoa’s Anglican parliament – for the first time in 2014, just as the formal debate over same-sex blessings began. The delegates created a working group on same-sex blessings; two ministers resigned in response. Watching the dispute, said Behan, ‘‘I wasn’t convinced it was the right time to go. I remember ringing [a resigning minister] to say, look, we’ll be stronger together.’’
By 2018 progressive pressure couldn’t be contained; General Synod passed a package of reforms allowing bishops to permit same-sex blessings. Behan described it as ‘‘anti-Christian and anti-Anglican’’. Soon after the vote, Behan gathered the Christchurch delegation to voice his frustration. ‘‘When Christians abandon the clear teaching of the Bible – whether on marriage or on any other topic – we’re shooting ourselves in the foot and we leave ourselves with nothing to offer the world.’’ Behan later explained that, ‘‘I burst into tears… I suddenly realised what had happened, the weight of it, and what had been done. I couldn’t actually speak any more.’’ Behan and another priest resigned that night.
Consciously or not, Behan had been preparing for this moment for years. After the 2014 decision to consider same-sex blessings, Behan helped found Aotearoa’s branch of the Fellowship of Confessing Anglicans – a conservative evangelical group – to provide ‘‘teaching on [homosexuality] from the Bible that is both clear and faithful, as well as being pastorally sensitive’’. Importantly, it provided a foundation for a schismatic church. In 2016 Behan emphasised that, ‘‘If [ACANZP] continues along the current trajectory then [people leaving] is only going to happen more and more. [The Fellowship] will deliberately and intentionally seek to hold us together whether we are inside or outside the church of this province.’’
In May 2019, after months of unsuccessful negotiations between Behan and ACANZP over alternatives, 12 churches proclaimed, ‘‘By the grace of God we are a new Anglican diocese in these Islands, standing firmly in Anglican faith and practice, and structurally distinct from the Anglican Church of Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia.’’ The new Church of Confessing Anglicans (CCA) elected Behan as their first Bishop.
Disputes over same-sex blessings have roiled Anglicanism for years. Senior Anglicans gather every decade at London’s Lambeth Palace, a sprawling complex inhabited by quasi-monastic young Anglicans. In 1998 they prohibited ‘‘the legitimising or blessing of same-sex unions nor ordaining those involved in same gender unions’’. Liberal Anglicans rebelled. In 2003 the American Episcopal Church ordained a bishop in a same-sex relationship; same-sex blessings became increasingly common in North America.
In 2008, decrying ‘‘moral compromise, doctrinal error and the collapse of biblical witness’’, nearly 300 conservative bishops gathered in Jerusalem to create the Global Anglican Futures Conference (GAFCON). According to Harding, ‘‘The distance between them and the Anglican Church is effectively schism… [To GAFCON] the Anglican Church is essentially heretical for its willingness to entertain more liberal teaching on sexual ethics...’’
It was against this background that ACANZP met in 2018 for General Synod. In a New Plymouth conference room wrapped in black curtains a large majority passed a rule-change to allow bishops to permit the blessing of same-sex marriages, prompting enthusiastic applause. It was a blunt challenge to those who had, according to Archbishop Phillip Richardson of ACANZP, warned that, ‘‘any kind of accommodation would be a step too far’’.
Schism was not inevitable. The debate was most tempestuous in 2016; the dioceses of Nelson and Christchurch both threatened schism in response to proposals being considered. Archbishop Richardson believed they were facing ‘‘the breakaway of tens of thousands of Anglicans’’. But compromises and consultation soothed the fractiousness.
The 2018 reforms only allowed local bishops to decide whether to permit blessings in their area. Individual churches could place themselves under a Bishop-Protector who could prevent gay clergy from being assigned to that church. Given these significant concessions, some believe the schism only occurred because of Australian foul play.
Sydney is famous for its cosmopolitan urbanism. But according to Harding, it is also ‘‘the most conservative part of the Anglican Church’’.
Sydney’s fierce conservative evangelicalism has been a remarkable success. According to Troughton, ‘‘[The Diocese of] Sydney is engaged in mission, their churches are growing, they’re fundraising, doing interesting projects, they have
‘‘I burst into tears… I suddenly realised what had happened, the weight of it, and what had been done. I couldn’t actually speak any more.’’ Jay Behan
young people in their churches… something a lot of churches struggle with.’’
Archbishop Glenn Davies, the diocese’s leader, is committed to spreading that model. Different Anglican provinces do not usually interfere with each other. But Lineham believes that after Aotearoa’s General Synod allowed same-sex blessings, Davies made it clear to Aotearoa’s Anglicans that ‘‘this is something to split over’’.
Shortly after General Synod voted, the Diocese of Sydney declared, ‘‘this step is contrary to the teaching of Christ’’. Davies wrote to ACANZP’s Archbishops to argue they should entirely reshape Aotearoa’s Church. Instead of ACANZP’s tripartite Ma¯ori, Pa¯keha¯ and Polynesian structure, Davies argued Aotearoa should have two equal churches: one progressive, one conservative evangelical.
In August 2018 Davies travelled to Hamilton to meet with representatives of both ACANZP and CCA. It was not a productive meeting. Days afterwards, Davies publicly released his proposal for Aotearoa’s Church. Months after that, ACANZP’s Archbishops responded, ‘‘Fundamentally, with respect and gratitude, it seems to us that your proposal has used our context and our story for wider purposes and does not understand or respect our history.’’
The crisis escalated again in October 2019. Hundreds of people sat in St Andrew’s Centennial Chapel for Behan’s consecration as Bishop. Among them were Davies and Bishop of Tasmania Richard Condie, who both helped in the elaborate consecration. Neither warned the Archbishops of ACANZP – a significant breach of custom. ‘‘[T]he lack of courtesy shown to our church by these boundary-crossing bishops is disturbing,’’ responded Archbishops Donald Tamihere and Richardson. ‘‘We value our trans-Tasman relationship with our neighbouring church and are disappointed to find a lack of respect for the jurisdiction of our church.’’ In the relentlessly genteel Anglican tradition, those are fighting words.
Sydney Anglicanism’s influence within the Church of Confessing Anglicans has since grown. Many of the CCA’s clergy lived, were educated or worked in Sydney. ‘‘The Sydney churches also sent people over,’’ noted Troughton. ‘‘A number of people who trained in Sydney have ended up in New Zealand.’’
Archbishop Richardson emphasised that, ‘‘for some of the people that have chosen to leave, their decision would not have been affected at all by whether they were supported by a strong, outside, ultra-conservative, very wealthy benefactor.’’ Implicit was the suggestion that for others the support would have made a significant difference.
According to Lineham, ‘‘every diocese chooses its own character and nobody can force them to do anything they don’t want to do. Nobody can force them to accept gay clergy.’’ That autonomy is what kept the deeply conservative diocese of Nelson within ACANZP. It’s an open question whether the CCA would have chosen to schism without the influential conservative evangelicals across the Tasman urging them to do so.
Frustratingly for ACANZP, the schism distracted from a genuinely progressive move. As Harding observed, ‘‘one thing the church has not adequately dealt with at all, ever, is the reality of Christian homophobia, which is very serious and damaging, and which has caused terrible suffering to people in terms of their mental health and ability to feel accepted – not only by the church, but by God.’’
The 2018 reforms were meant to be a triumphant demonstration of the church’s support for its takata¯pui wha¯nau. The changes had an enormous impact. According to Attwood, despite the schism’s acrimony and the painful and occasionally homophobic arguments which were raised, the reforms filled him with ‘‘absolute joy… when people were able to have their marriages blessed, it meant a tremendous deal to them. I’ve seen people crying with joy at the fact that they were able to have their partnership and their faith recognised together’’. But winning that victory meant the church was consumed by internecine fighting. It left so many scars that many people interviewed just wanted to move on.
Harding mused that, ‘‘if there is one saving grace about the situation, it is that ACANZP on the one hand, and the Church of Confessing Anglicans on the other, no longer have to put such an enormous amount of effort into dealing with the issue of same-sex blessings. Synod has made its decision and it had the consequences it did. The CCA can put its efforts into spiritual growth and evangelism and so on, and the same for the churches that are still part of the province’’.
There has been progress, in other words, but without the triumphalism ACANZP was hoping for.
It is unlikely the church can avoid another controversy for long. New Zealand is undergoing many social evolutions with theological implications and there are no easy answers. The church’s founding texts come from ancient societies with radically different cultures. It is possible to interpret those documents in progressive or conservative ways, but the fact interpretation is necessary means disagreement is inevitable. That’s further complicated by the fact that, Harding noted, the wider church ‘‘exists in a range of cultures around the world which have different understandings of ethics and sex and relationships and the kinship structures. They have different understandings of rights and duties and the common good’’.
That’s led to uncertainty about organised religion’s future. ‘‘The whole idea that religion can be held together through institutional structures could just be wrong,’’ mulled Lineham. ‘‘A lot of religiosity today is not neatly confined within traditional frameworks, as [it] used to be. And issues like [homosexuality or transgender rights], which institutions make such heavy weather of, most individuals navigate around much more easily.’’
The schism’s most significant impact was the raw pain it caused for grassroots congregations. Local churches were thrown into stinging debates over whether to schism. ‘‘It was exhausting and depressing,’’ said Harding, who also serves as an Anglican priest in Dunedin. ‘‘It felt as if you had people who were digging their heels in and were polarised around an issue which is, to be sure, an important ethical issue, but there’s an awful lot more to the gospel than that.’’ He paused. ‘‘A lot of people were really hurt, very deeply.’’
As they emerged from these discussions, few congregations were unanimous. Churches which broke away often had to leave behind substantial minorities of parishioners; churches which remained, particularly at the schism’s epicentre in Christchurch, faced exoduses. In both cases, noted Behan, ‘‘people are walking away from buildings where they were married, where they baptised their children, or where they held funerals for loved ones’’. According to Richardson, ‘‘[those who left] were all people that I really love. And at a personal level, it hurt like hell’’.
Sometimes the relationships within Anglicanism don’t just seem familial – they are familial. Behan’s younger brother Toby is also an Anglican priest. He chose not to join his brother’s new church. But Toby explains that they’ve been able to navigate the theological divide separating them. ‘‘We tend to recognise that [whether or not to leave] is probably a matter of conscience’’. He’s emphatic that ‘‘there isn’t any hint of difficulty at all within the family... we love each other’’.
Harding hopes other relationships within Anglicanism can be restored to that level of strength.
‘‘I hope that people who belong to one or the other can continue to nurture relationships with the other. I have friends in both camps, and I respect them for who they are and the decisions they’ve made and where they feel they must be.’’
Nonetheless, Harding is doubtful about the possibility of reuniting the church in future. ‘‘I don’t have a lot of hope for an end to the schism, either here in New Zealand or in other parts of the Anglican Communion.’’
‘‘Every diocese chooses its own character and nobody can force them to do anything they don’t want to do. Nobody can force them to accept gay clergy.’’ Peter Lineham