"Swamped by modernism, liberalism and feminism, the Church of England is now nothing more than a rotting carcass," laments the Rev Francis Bown.
Pastor Dale Morgan
"Swamped by modernism, liberalism and feminism, the Church of England is
now nothing more than a rotting carcass," laments the Rev Francis Bown.*
By Rebecca Fowler
Last Updated: 2:35am GMT 10/11/2007
When the Rev Dr Jennifer Cooper was ordained at Bristol Cathedral a
month ago, it was a moment of uncomplicated joy. "I was overwhelmed to
be surrounded by so many people, sharing in this very powerful moment,"
she says. "I was finally going to fulfil my calling."
On the surface, few ceremonies could offer more hope to a Church of
England fighting for survival than an ordination. It is a sign of new
life, at a time when Sunday attendance threatens to dip below a million.
And, since the ordination of women was approved exactly 15 years ago
tomorrow, their presence is now taken for granted: more than 2,000 out
of 9,500 Anglican clergy are women, as are almost half of trainee
priests. And yet no issue has divided the Church so violently in recent
times as that of women priests.
From the moment it became a reality, after a vote of the General Synod
in November 1992, there was talk of schism and threats of an exodus to
Rome. "This is the death of the Church," concluded one opponent. "You
can no more ordain a woman than a pork pie," suggested another.
Lord Carey, the Archbishop of Canterbury during those turbulent years,
has strong memories of the era. As leader of the Church, it was his job
to steer the debate with as few casualties as possible. But he was also
a passionate supporter of women priests.
"It was a most bewildering journey, with vitriol and bitterness as well
as joy," he recalls. "As Archbishop of Canterbury, I was expected to be
on both sides of the debate, which was of course impossible. I was quite
clear that the ordination of women was right."
As the General Synod voted on that grey afternoon in 1992, after five
and a half hours of debate, history was made, even though the women won
with just two votes to spare.
"There were very strong emotions on both sides," says Christina Rees, a
leading member of the Movement for the Ordination of Women Priests.
"Euphoria on one side, and inconsolable sadness for those who felt their
church had been destroyed."
Supporters of women priests predicted that the church would be
transformed, and pews would overflow. But opponents were distraught.
"Swamped by modernism, liberalism and feminism, the Church of England is
now nothing more than a rotting carcass," lamented the Rev Francis Bown.
In the following weeks, more than 400 priests left the Church. Many took
shelter in Roman Catholicism, where they were joined by high-profile
parishioners such as the MPs Ann Widdecombe and John Gummer. Others made
use of an opt-out clause which let them exclude the women from their
parishes. In a move that is now being challenged, the legislation also
barred women from becoming bishops. These are still open wounds.
But the impact of women priests was always going to take a long time to
be felt, and only now can we begin to get a true sense of it. Were they
the disaster their opponents predicted? Have they undermined 450 years
of tradition? Or have they breathed new life into an ailing church? In
short, was it worth it?
Despite the meticulous attempts of the first generation not to offend,
all the new priests met with some prejudice, which even now they are
keen to downplay. Few complained when they were called "witches", or
jostled by aggressive members of the congregation, or excluded from
meetings with male colleagues, or given the cold shoulder by
parishioners who refused to take communion from them.
Instead, they bided their time and were eventually acknowledged as
having brought a new humanity to the priesthood.
"I remember speaking to a woman who had had a stillborn baby," says
Christina Rees. "Her vicar had suffered a series of late miscarriages.
She went to her and just held her. Nothing could have been more
comforting at that time. That kind of instinctive compassion is part of
what they are bringing."
Among the first to take orders was the Rev Canon Wendy Wilby, who read
music at Oxford University and is now Precentor at Bristol Cathedral. "I
first felt a calling to the priesthood when I was 13 years old," says
Canon Wilby, a mother of two.
"People were horrified even at the suggestion: it seemed impossible. I
was 40 when it finally happened, but it was still everything I had hoped
for. Undoubtedly, the loneliness can be extreme when you feel everyone
is against you. I look at some of the new generation, and think, 'You
don't know what it was like at the beginning.' But I haven't regretted a
minute of it."
Perhaps the single greatest sign of acceptance was the success of The
Vicar of Dibley, the comedy series in which Dawn French's Geraldine
Granger ran a country parish. At its peak, it attracted 15 million
viewers - an audience the Church could only dream of seeing in the pews.
"She's done a lot for us," says the Rev Canon Christine Froude, 60, who
was a bank manager before she joined the priesthood 14 years ago. "It
was very tough for the first women priests, who fought the hardest
battles. There was always a sense of not wanting to offend anyone. Those
were serious times and some women had become a bit battle-weary. It was
good for all of us for Dibley to present a face of female ministry that
was fun as well as caring."
But what of those who opposed the change, and felt compelled to either
leave the Church or opt out of parishes where women were ministers? The
two main factions were evangelicals, who were opposed mainly on
theological grounds, and Anglo-Catholics, who were concerned over
relations with other denominations, including the Roman Catholics, that
were - and still are - strongly opposed to female clergy.
There has certainly been a softening in attitude. While many maintain
that the Church never had the authority to tamper with the priesthood,
nearly all acknowledge that women clergy have made a significant human
contribution.
"In many ways, it's been a good thing in pastoral terms," says Charles
Moore, a former editor of The Daily Telegraph and a convert to Roman
Catholicism. "The people who warned against it were wrong if they
thought it would cause trouble in parishes: there are more people
ministering to the flocks, and women seem to do this very well.
"But it has undoubtedly proved a significant block to church unity. The
great movement to get the churches together has ground to a halt. And
unity should be such an overwhelming concern for a Christian." In the
staunchly Anglo-Catholic parish of St Peter's, Wapping, Father T?E Jones
describes the damage to ecumenical relations as "profound" and points
out that hopes of women rescuing the Church of England have proved
unfounded.
"Women priests are just like men," he says. "Some are brilliant and some
are rubbish. But it was never about pragmatism. It was about whether the
Church had the authority to make that decision. It's a bit like Arsenal
suddenly deciding that they are no longer going to use the offside rule,
regardless of the rest of the league. And this has not done anything to
stop the decline in Christian practice: we're in just as much trouble as
ever."
According to Dr Cooper, who is a month into her ministry, no group could
be expected to halt 50 years of decline. But as both a priest and an
academic theologian, she believes it is high time for the Church to move on.
"While women are excluded from being bishops and while there are still
men joining the priesthood who are against women priests, that is still
hard," she says. "But it is not so hard that it stops me from
considering the far more important issues facing the Church and the
world, or from feeling an enormous sense of joy at what I am doing. Not
for a moment."