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You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. I Peter 2:9
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For Scratchie and Cracker
First published in 2005 Copyright © Chris McGillion 2005 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email:
[email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: McGillion, Chris, 1954- . The chosen ones : the politics of salvation in the Anglican Church. 1st ed. Bibliography. Includes index. ISBN 1 74114 313 6. 1. Church of England. Diocese of Sydney - History. 2. Church of England. Diocese of Sydney - Government. 3. Sydney (N.S.W.) - Church history. I. Title. 283.9441 Set in 11/13 pt Centaur by Midland Typesetters, Maryborough, Vic. Printed by Griffin Press, Adelaide 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Contents Foreword Acknowledgments Introduction
vii ix xi
PART I: HOLY WARS 1 A question of identity 2 Battle lines are drawn 3 Sweet victory
3 36 71
PART II: THE JENSEN ASCENDANCY 4 People of the Book 5 Soul searching 6 The new Reformation
99 125 161
Conclusion: The politics of salvation
199
Notes Bibliography Index
205 231 234
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Foreword Chris McGillion describes the inner workings of one of the powerhouses of the Anglican Church—the Sydney Diocese. Arguably the ‘lowest’ diocese (still) in the Anglican communion, Sydney has the power and the resources to successfully stamp its image on the wider church. It represents one of the extremes of the great diversity of the Anglican Church worldwide, which was never characterised by unity based in uniformity. This is the story of the enormous growth in the capacity and will of the Sydney Diocese to sharpen its positions and extend its influence in the past decade. Told with the clear eye of an outsider, McGillion uses neither hagiography nor vitriol in his description of the debates, contests for position and the views of the several parties. This is a very readable story, told by a journalist with a careful eye for historical detail and the interesting twists and turns of human political organisations including the church. While insiders will find it most interesting, it has a wider appeal to those who seek to understand a key player in this time when conservative Christianity is increasing its influence in Australia and elsewhere. Those who strongly disagree with the positions taken by Sydney Anglicans will not find ammunition here, but detail about the emergence of those promoting these views. Those who strongly favour Sydney Anglicanism will not find themselves undermined by sarcasm or misrepresentation, for they are largely heard in their own voices. In this mirror we actually see clearly, fairly and in ways that help us to understand a conservative, somewhat puritanical, religious movement. Professor Gary D. Bouma Monash University vii
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Acknowledgments I am particularly indebted to those many people who agreed to be interviewed (both on and off the record) for this book, and to those who also assisted by providing critical information, offering useful suggestions and directions, and answering my many questions with patience and good humour. Thanks are also due to David Brown for proofreading and insights on the text, and to David Berger for crucial references on Reformation history. I would also like to express my gratitude to the staff of Moore College library for making their collection available. And a special note of gratitude to Cathryn, who gave up time together while I pursued this more solitary passion.
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Introduction No other subject in Australia’s religious life today generates quite the same kind of intensely polarised public opinion as the complexion of the Anglican Diocese of Sydney. The election of Peter Jensen as Archbishop in 2001 went against the grain of developments in the historic Western heartlands of Anglicanism. Through the 1990s, Anglicans elsewhere in Australia, in the United Kingdom, North America and New Zealand for the most part were coming to terms with progressive adjustments in their ecclesiology (principally the expansion of women’s ministry) and adopting a greater flexibility in their interpretation of theology (as evidenced, for instance, by their support for ecumenical dialogue with the Catholic Church and their willingness to review some aspects of their own Church’s moral teaching). By contrast, Sydney took a sharp turn toward a more extreme and conservative form of Protestantism. Resistance to the ordination of women priests stiffened in the Sydney Diocese in the 1990s, the push to blur the lines between clergy and laity by allowing the latter to preside at (or lead) Holy Communion services grew stronger, the sacramental life of the Church took an ever-increasing back seat to the preaching of scripture, and both the physical and liturgical architectures of traditional Anglicanism were stripped away. In the view of many people inside and outside the Diocese, those behind such moves were a selfappointed clique out to vandalise the Anglican heritage; to others, they xi
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were liberators releasing the Christian faith from archaic forms of expression and practice that were increasingly rendering it irrelevant to society. In the minds of those promoting change, the time had come for a radical overhaul of the Diocese and the faith it expressed and they were the ones on whom the onus fell to see it through. When he became Archbishop, Jensen was also able to win the backing of the Diocese—principally through its lawmaking body, the Synod—for what is arguably the most ambitious religious project undertaken in this country in the last half-century: to entice 10 per cent of the city of Sydney’s entire population (that is, half a million people) into what he calls ‘Bible-based’ churches within a decade. To achieve this goal (which will entail at least a 600 per cent increase in Anglican attendance across Sydney), the life of the Diocese is to be turned upside down. There will be a new outreach to fellow-minded Christians irrespective of their denominational allegiances. Additional congregations and fellowships will be encouraged throughout the city parallel to—and often in competition with—existing Anglican parish structures and services. Significant resources are to be diverted into theological education and ministry training programs. But it won’t end there. ‘Ten per cent [of Sydney’s population] is only the first stage,’ Jensen told an audience in London in 2003. ‘Our aim is, of course, 100 per cent.’1 Seeking to reverse the perceived spread of irreligion throughout the wider culture, Jensen also set about to encourage aggressive Christian proselytising in the media, the workplace and schools. Again, some see this as intrusive meddling in people’s private lives and an inappropriate challenge to the accepted consensus that Australia is a multicultural and so multi-faith society in which all beliefs and even non-belief should be accorded equal value and respect. Others view these initiatives as a welcome assertion of Christianity in an otherwise deeply secular environment that has lost its moral compass. A part of the explanation for this turn of events in the Sydney Diocese lies in the nature of its relationship with Australian Anglicanism generally. The Church of England was never the established church in this country—but for much of its history it has been xii
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the church of the powerful and privileged. As beneficiaries of the status quo, Anglicans didn’t seek to question existing social, economic or constitutional arrangements nor, in the process of questioning these, were they forced to forge their own culturally distinctive identity, with all the encouragement this would have given to the development of a dynamic Anglican imagination contributing fresh insights into what it means to be Australian. The Catholic Church, by contrast, was largely the church of the Irish-Australian working class. As the group that had most to gain by change, Catholics were more inclined than Anglicans to be counter-cultural. Catholics put the resources of their church behind efforts to improve their social standing (most obviously through the development of an extensive Catholic school system), mobilised in support of the progressive politics of the Australian Labor Party as opposed to its conservative rivals, and came to dominate much of the nation’s intellectual life. The support from senior Catholic leaders behind the push in the late 1990s for Australia to become a republic—and the resistance this idea met from senior Anglican leaders—could be seen as exemplifying this contrast. For Anglicans complacency was the order of the day, and the atrophy of much of their church life was the result. The Diocese of Sydney is the arguable exception. Founded and forged in the early nineteenth century by evangelicals—Christian believers who are more Protestant than other Anglicans in outlook, who stress belief in personal salvation and in the Bible as the sole authority in matters of faith, and who place a high priority on evangelism or winning converts to Christ—the Church in Sydney saw its expression of Anglicanism increasingly marginalised with respect to the rest of the country. Dioceses established in the other Australian colonies through the later part of the nineteenth century came under the influence of the Anglo-Catholic revival in England—an attempt to restore elements of Catholic tradition and practice in the Church of England inspired by the decline into which that church had sunk in the early nineteenth century. The revival meant that many new dioceses in Australia became Anglo-Catholic themselves, or else developed as communities with significant numbers of Anglo-Catholics in their xiii
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midst—which inclined them toward an inclusive approach in matters of church life. Sydney Anglicans were thus increasingly challenged to define themselves against these other dioceses and to mount a defence of their distinctiveness. This challenge invited a more robust churchmanship and the kind of innovation and adaptation rarely seen in other parts of Australian Anglicanism. Historical chance—in the form of early land grants to a church seen as having an important role to play in enforcing a moral code in a convict colony—together with good financial management, also gave Sydney abundant resources with which to develop its own identity and insulate itself from trends and pressures in other parts of the Anglican world. Some even claim that this is the secret to Sydney’s success. The most recent estimates value the Church’s assets in Sydney at between $2 and $3 billion.2 If it was a company, such a treasure trove would place the Diocese in the top 50 in the entire country. Most of these assets, however, are in churches, halls, residences and other facilities which are catering to the continuing needs of established congregations and do not produce significant additional income. (Of course, the assets could be rationalised and in certain circumstances sold off, and there has been discussion about this at the highest levels within the Diocese as a means of raising the $500 million it has been estimated will be necessary to guarantee the success of Archbishop Jensen’s mission over the next decade.3) The Diocese is also rich in capital, but again, this capital is income-producing and used to fund existing activities, the annual income from property trusts and other sources being around $15 million.4 What is undisputable, however, is that Sydney is in a better position than many other dioceses (whose parishes have to support head office financially as well as providing for themselves) and that this creates opportunities to develop a variety of ministries and outreach programs that newer, smaller and more cashstrapped dioceses simply do not have. Moreover, the human resources at the disposal of the Sydney church are impressive. The number of nominal Anglicans in the Diocese is close to one million (almost a third of all Anglicans in the country). On any given Sunday, between 50 000 and 75 000 people attend Sydney xiv
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Anglican church services. Its ministry training centre based at Moore College produces more graduates each year than the Diocese can employ. A report prepared for the Anglican General Synod in May 2004 showed that weekly attendance figures for Anglicans nationally had decreased by 7 per cent in the period 1991–2001; in the case of Sydney, however, there was an 11 per cent increase over the same period.5 Not surprisingly, the psyche of the Church in Sydney together with its performance relative to Anglicans in most of the rest of the country has contributed to a sense that the Diocese knows the answer to the religious apathy of the age—and that this lies in a more fulsome embrace of its particular version of the way things should be done. But part of the thinking behind the institutionalised triumph of this view in 2001 (with Peter Jensen’s election as Archbishop) may also lie in the profound changes that affected Australian life generally, and the life of Sydneysiders in particular, from the early 1980s. Beginning with the election of the Hawke government in 1983, successive Australian governments set about a program of economic restructuring designed to make the country’s economy more competitive internationally. Inevitably there were winners and losers from this process but, more than this, there was a rupture in the way Australians had hitherto viewed themselves and the world. Summing up the change ten years later, social researcher Hugh Mackay wrote: Australians in the last quarter of the 20th century had become pioneers; some heroically, some reluctantly, some painfully. We have been plunged into a period of unprecedented social, cultural, political, economic and technological change in which the Australian way of life is being radically redefined … As we move through the 1990s, the anxiety, stress and insecurity which have become characteristic of Australians may well be the sign that a cultural revolution is occurring. If a new sense of national identity is indeed emerging, then the widespread sense of loss of identity may be the darkness before the dawn.6
But some things grow in darkness, just as others do in light, and two of them are fear and uncertainty. Six years after Mackay’s 1993 book xv
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Reinventing Australia was published, John Birmingham had a chance to evaluate Mackay’s predictions as they pertained specifically to Sydney. In Leviathan: The unauthorised biography of Sydney, Birmingham noted that economic dislocation, together with the increase in migration from non-traditional sources (principally in Asia), had made many people angry that they were being left behind and fearful of the threat of cultural annihilation: For the legions of [Sydney’s] poor, unemployed and even middle-class people whose experience of the 1980s and 1990s was not of white shoes and Cointreau balls, intense economic change nurtured corrosive fear and a sense of powerlessness. There is no solace in blaming impersonal developments like ‘globalisation’ in such circumstances. So the anxious parties look for explanations or myths of failed or guilty leaders, dangerous outsiders or simple conspiracy. A related consequence is the appeal of [the] ‘hero leader’, often riding in from outside the system to deal with the threat.7
The more general social reaction to the change government policies unleashed from the 1980s may have contributed to the momentum behind the developments unfolding in the Sydney Diocese through the 1990s; by decade’s end, Peter Jensen may have been viewed by many Anglicans as the kind of ‘hero leader’ needed in unsettling times. Certainly this is a context worth considering in tracking the struggles within the Sydney Diocese. It is a context which goes some way to explaining the broader community’s exhaustion with social and economic reform, its attraction to conservatism and desire for certainty, and its renewed interest in a sense of clearly defined, even rigid, identity. Indeed, there is a body of literature which explains the popular appeal of Protestantism in England in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries precisely in terms of this kind of reaction against the turbulent social and economic upheavals of that age.8 What then explains why Anglicans in Perth and Canberra entered the decade by embracing the new (in the form, for example, of leading the charge to ordain women priests) while their Sydney counterparts appear to have reacted by seeking to reinforce their religious cultural xvi
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defences against it? Three observations are crucial to understanding this difference. The first is that the Diocese of Sydney only gradually turned fully in upon itself. The election of Harry Goodhew as Archbishop in 1993 was a rejection of the conservative agenda on offer in the person of the Rev. Phillip Jensen (younger brother of Peter and by then already a formidable figure in Sydney Anglican circles in his own right) in preference for a moderate evangelical who, while opposed initially to women’s ordination and maintaining a ‘sound’ position on other touchstones of Sydney’s definition of orthodoxy, was nevertheless committed to contributing to the life of the national Church and to engaging the Diocese with the society around it. This meant the conservatives had to find ways to rule from below while they regathered their forces for a formal claim on the leadership on Goodhew’s retirement. The second observation is that the general social mood had shifted noticeably by 1996—the year conservative evangelicals won back effective control of the Standing Committee of Sydney Synod—and nowhere more dramatically so than in Sydney. In the Federal election of that year which brought John Howard’s Coalition to government, the swing against the Labor Party nationally was 6.17 per cent. In New South Wales, however, it was 8.76 per cent (the highest of any state, and arguably a result that reflected both the disproportionate impact of economic restructuring on the state and of the new waves of non-traditional immigrants on its metropolitan centre). In those Sydney electorates with the most vibrant evangelical Anglican churches, the swing against Labor was higher still: in the electorate of Hughes (embracing the southern suburbs around Jannali) it was 13.79 per cent; in Mitchell (the Hills district) it was 9.03 per cent; in the seat of Sydney (which takes in parts of Centennial Park) it was 10.1 per cent.9 Lastly, by the latter half of the 1990s Sydneysiders had been exposed to the demoralising revelations of the Wood Royal Commission into Corruption in the NSW Police Service for over two years. Long before he issued his final report in 1997, Justice James Wood had uncovered what he came to call ‘a state of systematic and entrenched corruption’ in the NSW Police Force, spilling over into xvii
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cases of child sexual abuse implicating even some clergy and judges. As Birmingham noted, the Wood Commission ‘ran for so long that the endless revelations had something of a numbing effect’.10 They also had the effect of undermining confidence in the integrity of many once-revered institutions—including the churches and the judiciary— and of encouraging the demand for a return to unambiguous moral commitments on the part of public officials, including religious leaders. It may be no coincidence, for instance, that the leadership of both the Catholic Archdiocese of Sydney (in the form of Archbishop George Pell) and the Anglican Diocese (in the form of Archbishop Peter Jensen) passed to moral hardliners and defenders of their respective church ‘orthodoxies’ in 2001. But Pell’s appointment, like the stern instruction issued three years earlier that local Catholic hierarchs get the Australian Church back to basics, was largely imposed by outside—in the person of Pope John Paul II and his Vatican bureaucrats.11 Peter Jensen’s appointment, by contrast, was a local affair. It was not entirely democratic—the clergy exercises an influence in the Synod disproportionate to their numbers—and it was partly engineered by a small group of selfselected clergy and laity who thought they knew best where the Diocese should be heading. Yet it was endorsed by a majority of the lay representatives on Synod. This result raises important questions for all churches about the fate of progressive leadership. As things have transpired, the result also raises important social questions about the extent to which religious conviction is compatible with vigorous debate, the tolerance of different views, the encouragement of diversity, and an openness to the insights the surrounding culture can offer. What follows is not intended to be an exhaustive history of the Diocese of Sydney between 1992 and 2004 but rather an informed narrative of the key developments unfolding at the time, an interpretation of how these contributed to the outcome with which this chapter began, and an analysis of the prevailing thinking among the current church leadership and its implications for Anglicans in Sydney and the Anglican Church nationally and internationally, for ecumenical and inter-faith relations, and for the cultural life of Sydney. It is xviii
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divided into two sections: the first, Holy Wars, traces developments in the Diocese from the eve of Harry Goodhew’s election as Archbishop in 1993 to the election of his successor, Peter Jensen, in June 2001; the second, The Jensen Ascendancy, provides a more interpretive analysis of the direction of the Diocese under Archbishop Jensen and of the implications of this direction for Anglicans and non-Anglicans alike. Given the subject matter, it is appropriate to declare at the outset that I am not an Anglican and so have no axe to grind or stake in the outcome of the developments here covered. Nor do I have any desire to caricature the people referred to in this book or to doubt the sincerity of their convictions. This is a study of ecclesiastical politics, not of theology—but it is a study with important implications for the Christian Church worldwide generally and for any thorough understanding of the social and intellectual life of Sydney in particular.
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Part I Holy Wars ‘We called ourselves “the colonels”. We weren’t the generals— they were the bishops; they were hapless we thought—and we weren’t the lieutenants. But we were the ones.’ Robert Forsyth on the association of Sydney clergy known as the Reformed Evangelical Protestant Association
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1
A question of identity For many are called, but few are chosen. —Matthew 22:14
n one of his last interviews before retiring as Archbishop of Sydney in January 1993, Donald Robinson offered a blunt assessment of what he regarded as the main challenge confronting the Anglican Church of Australia. ‘It took us a long time to wake up to the fact that we were no longer what the Church is in England,’ he said. ‘So what are we and why do we retain our distinctiveness? Is that just inertia? Is it cussedness, pigheadedness? What is it? That is a very serious question for us and I think it is below the surface all along the line.’1 Not long after, this issue would erupt in a fashion that would eventually have profound implications for Anglicans everywhere, test the generally good relations that had developed over years among Sydney’s various religious communities, and put the Diocese of Sydney on a collision course with the secular culture in which it found itself. The combined effect would be to force religion into the public domain in ways Australians had not seen for decades. The question of identity Robinson had mentioned in one sense had been inherited by the Church of England virtually from its beginnings. The English Reformation followed rather than preceded Henry VIII’s break with Rome, with the consequence that the national church
I
3
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retained an essentially Catholic hierarchy and outward form even as it opened itself to the influence of European Protestant theology. The official doctrine of the Church of England as expressed in The Book of Common Prayer 1662 was an attempt to incorporate both these elements within the one worship community. But neither its Catholic (‘high church’) nor its reforming (‘low church’) parties were entirely satisfied with compromise as a solution, and both have competed for influence ever since. Initially, the Church in Australia experienced little of this tension. At the time of settlement in 1788, and for several decades thereafter, missionary societies in England were dominated by low church evangelicals who were noted for their strong preference for scripture over tradition and the sacramental life of the church, their puritan ethos, and their dedication to the propagation of the gospel at home and abroad as well as for a commitment to social reform. Among the clergy sponsored by these societies there was thus a consensus about the nature of the church, and in a small, far-flung colony it was a consensus that was relatively easy to maintain.2 Beginning in the 1830s, however, the Church in England underwent an Anglo-Catholic revival in response to drastically declining numbers of practitioners and a general rise in disbelief. As this revival gained momentum through the rest of the century, new English migrants to Australia tended to be less fiercely evangelical in complexion and the clergy who accompanied them more Anglo-Catholic in their outlook. Circumstances were changing for the Church here as well. Because the early clergy carried the status of official chaplains to the penal colony of New South Wales, it was possible to at least assume that they were also representatives of an established church—as in England. But Governor Bourke’s Church Act of 1836 signalled the state’s neutrality in matters of religion by providing government assistance to both Catholic and Protestant churches on a pro rata basis. Henceforth struggles over identity, structure and direction were clearly matters for the Church itself to decide without recourse to the legal system or political authorities. As more colonies were formed and their populations grew, new dioceses were created. Anglicans in Sydney became increasingly isolated from the 4
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currents sweeping the Church in the rest of the country and in need of absorbing newcomers within their culture lest it weaken under the weight of demographic pressures. As a result the Diocese of Sydney began to close in on itself while simultaneously struggling to develop its identity in the larger Church and society.
The coup that failed By the time Robinson stepped down, this struggle had come to focus on a number of key issues, chief among them women’s ordination to the priesthood. Several churches in the worldwide Anglican Communion had opened their doors to women priests in the 1970s (first Hong Kong, then the United States, Canada and New Zealand) and in 1977 the Australian General Synod received a report from its Commission on Doctrine which concluded that there were no theological objections to the move. This report of itself prompted no immediate action on the part of church authorities and in 1983 a support group for women seeking ordination, the Movement for the Ordination of Women (MOW), was formed to push the goal. Two years later MOW held its first national conference in, of all places, Sydney—one of the dioceses most staunchly opposed to women priests. For many Sydney Anglicans women’s ordination had become the touchstone of orthodoxy but the pro-ordination group’s national conference testified to the seriousness with which their cause was being taken all around the country. ‘There is a sense in which we feel, and certainly in the 90s felt, under real threat,’ says Bishop Robert Forsyth. ‘Sydney has split when pressured from outside—that is, how to deal with the outside Church is often what has caused trouble within Sydney.’3 That trouble escalated as the women’s ordination cause began to win open support from several bishops, including the then Bishop of Canberra and Goulburn, Bishop Owen Dowling. In a dramatic move reflecting his own frustration with the lack of a resolution, Dowling announced his intention to ordain eleven women in February 1992. 5
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A Sydney layman, Dr Laurie Scandrett, together with two clergy, the Rev. Dalba Primmer from Canberra and Goulburn, and the Rev. David Robarts from Melbourne, then commenced legal proceedings in the NSW Supreme Court to restrain Bishop Dowling. The court dismissed the application but a last-minute injunction from the NSW Court of Appeal stopped Dowling in his tracks—although the court eventually ruled that since the matter did not involve a property issue (and hence interpretation of acts of parliament) it would not rule on the matter. The following month, Archbishop Peter Carnley of Perth took it upon himself to ordain ten women in his Cathedral. Another appeal to the courts—funded by some Anglicans in Sydney—failed to stop him and he went ahead with the ordinations. The outcome of these legal challenges had two consequences for opponents of women’s ordination in Sydney. ‘The failure to stop the ordination of women through the courts reinforced existing tendencies which were building up that [the legal route] really wasn’t the way to go,’ says Ken Handley, then Chancellor (legal adviser) to the Diocese of Sydney, a position he held from 1980 to 2003. Alternative means would have to be found, in other words, to protect Sydney’s position on this and similar issues. But the courts’ ultimate failure to intervene—except where issues of church property were involved—also indicated that the law could not be used to restrain other initiatives where the Diocese of Sydney might take the lead. ‘In the long run,’ comments Handley, ‘Sydney has been seen to have lost the battle and won the war.’4 Carnley had also chosen to act four months before General Synod passed provisional legislation enabling individual dioceses to decide for themselves whether or not to adopt forthcoming national legislation on the women’s ordination issue. In November, General Synod reconvened and narrowly passed into law a canon repealing any inherited English Church law or tradition preventing the ordination of women, and by the end of 1992 there were 80 women priests in ten dioceses across Australia. Influential conservatives in Sydney felt sufficiently alarmed by this shift in church attitudes nationally, and by what they regarded as Carnley’s disregard for due procedure, to propose that the Diocese should withdraw from General Synod and 6
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begin ‘planting’—or establishing—churches faithful to what they regarded as scriptural orthodoxy in areas dominated by ‘liberals’.5 The organisational unity of the Australian church—which had been achieved barely 30 years earlier—was coming under threat. So too was any hope of moving beyond the essential tribal nature of Australian Anglicanism and defining instead a distinctive identity common to all. Some Sydney Anglicans supported MOW, including especially both lay women and men (at the 1992 Synod, the lay vote on women’s ordination was 43 per cent in favour and growing), but they met a wall of resistance from the clergy led by Robinson. Older and deeper cleavages were beginning to open up in the Diocese and the inroads MOW was making only accelerated the process. Decades earlier, conservative evangelicals in Sydney had won a significant victory over moderates, liberal Anglicans and Anglo-Catholics when, in 1933, they secured the election of the like-minded Howard Mowll as Archbishop. In an address to the Sydney Synod five years after his election, Mowll laid before it the program that would come to define the Diocese: ‘Study evangelism, preach evangelism, live evangelism.’6 In one of his last and most significant acts as Archbishop, Mowll appointed Dr David Broughton Knox to carry on this project as principal of the diocesan training centre Moore College. Over the next 26 years, Knox would draw the college—and thus generations of the clergy it produced, including within their numbers the Jensen brothers—into a confessional stance that emphasised the centrality of evangelism, the simplicity of worship, and the importance of the local congregation as the central expression of the Church. But there were still enough moderates, liberals and Anglo-Catholic Anglicans in the pews to keep other expressions of Anglicanism alive in the Diocese. By the 1970s, however, Knox’s protégés were running parishes in the outer suburbs of Sydney where they ditched priestly garb, rejected traditional hymns, and gave further emphasis to the preaching of scripture over the (already diminished) role of the sacraments in Anglican services. Ten years later, Synod set up a committee to explore the possibility of allowing lay persons to preside at Holy 7
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Communion—a function which had always been reserved for priests and bishops and so suggesting a radical departure from established church tradition. In February 1992 a number of these (mostly younger) clergy in middle-class parishes formed the Reformed Evangelical Protestant Association (REPA) which, though vehemently opposed to women’s ordination, would use the issue as something of a stalking horse for a far more ambitious agenda. REPA began as an association of about 20 clergymen—‘people of standing accomplishment’ in parish ministry, according to one of its founding members, Canon Bruce Ballantine-Jones of Jannali7— who would gather regularly but informally on Saturday mornings to discuss how things in the Anglican Church could change for the better. ‘We called ourselves “the colonels”,’ recalls Robert Forsyth, one of the group’s original participants. ‘We weren’t generals—they were the bishops; they were hapless we thought—and we weren’t the lieutenants. But we were the ones.’ The goal was to reform the Church so that it would be more effective evangelically, more faithful to the scriptures, and more in tune with what were regarded as the essential principles of the Reformation. To this end, REPA’s foundation statement read like a call to arms: We are a group of reformed evangelical protestant pastors of churches in Sydney, who are dissatisfied with our Association of churches [that is, the Anglican Church of Australia] because of its failure to: stimulate growth, develop resources, maintain evangelicalism, handle controversy, and spread and establish the gospel. Therefore we are meeting to try to rectify the weaknesses in our Association, whose place in our society is diminishing and whose integrity to our theological position is compromised . . . The essential change that we need to make is to put our reformed evangelical theology (with its characteristic evangelical style of ministry) ahead of any denominational, institutional or vested interest at every level of our Association. It is not a grand stroke but a thousand changes that need to be made. However, all the changes run in the same direction, so that our Association will 8
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reinforce, assist and spread our pastoral ministries. It is a grass roots rather than a centrally organised change in direction based in theology and evangelism rather than in liturgy and structuralism.8
REPA represented a distinctive evangelical culture, one that tended toward a no-nonsense interpretation of the Bible, was extremely parochial with regard to structuring the life of the community of believers, and maintained a strict line on matters of personal morality. Its members were also inclined to be distrustful of modern social trends and institutions, believing that the gains of the Reformation were being corrupted by a church too eager to accommodate itself to the fashions of the day and too weak to withstand the secular demands of the times. The purity of scripture and the priority of spreading its message, they argued, were needed now more than ever. ‘In Sydney we’re pretty well protected from the liberal-dominated Anglican Church of Australia, which is clapped out and dying anyway, so it’s not a threat to us,’ suggests Ballantine-Jones. ‘But because the Anglican Church as a whole was dying and Christianity itself was under pressure in our secular society and the gospel mission, to which we were all committed, was not going well—that was a problem. Nothing in our Anglican Church culture and structure was facilitating its success. Since theologically we were not committed to what you might call the outward marks of our denomination, we wanted to reform them in order to make our church more effective.’ There was nothing sinister about this agenda or the group that had united behind it, insists another founding member, the Rev. John Woodhouse, at the time rector of Christ Church, St Ives: ‘It was a meeting of friends really—all of us, we’re friends who were involved in parish ministry at the time. Our question was “What is going to happen to us as Anglicans?” I think our sense was, is anybody really thinking about where we as a group of people—the Anglican Diocese of Sydney or a group within the Anglican Diocese of Sydney—[are going]; have we got plans for the future [about] what we would like to see achieved in this city and in this church . . . It was fundamentally an evangelistic concern for the gospel reaching this city.’9 Even so, 9
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Ballantine-Jones has no doubts about the temperament of the group. ‘There was a certain revolutionary fervour,’ he says. Whatever its intentions, the initial impact of REPA was considerable. ‘The development of REPA was very significant,’ recalls Harry Goodhew. ‘It did damage to a lot of friendships.’ More than that, however, it had the effect of dividing people along political and ideological lines. ‘People felt that they had to take sides; it drew very strong loyalties and it drew significant opposition.’10 One expression of this opposition was the emergence of a new alignment of moderate Anglicans—many of whom were of a broader and more temperate evangelical persuasion. Five months after the establishment of REPA, and with the bruising controversy over women’s ordination very much in mind, more than 100 prominent Sydney Anglicans created something of a rival group— Anglicans Together—in July 1992. The self-declared aim of those who launched Anglicans Together was to prevent the Diocese from drifting into a narrow sect cut off from the rest of the Church. ‘Many Sydney evangelicals have become legalistic and will not agree to be associated with those with whom they fundamentally disagree,’ explained one of the founders, the former Registrar of Sydney Diocese, Gerald Christmas. ‘I don’t see the logic of that. We all have differences of opinion, but these don’t mean we have to structurally divide.’11 The immediate method by which members of this group sought to maintain diversity in the Diocese was by mobilising support for a successor to Donald Robinson who would be sympathetic to their aims. Anglicans Together, according to its current president, the Rev. John Cornish, was ‘primarily formed to arrange for a moderate person to be elected archbishop’.12 By the beginning of 1993, Anglicans Together had grown in number to about 250 mostly lay people, while REPA claimed to represent almost half of the 400 clergy in the diocese.13 For both groups, what was at stake in the forthcoming choice of a new Archbishop was nothing less than the future direction of the Diocese. Would the turbulence generated by the women’s ordination debate 10
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trigger a fundamental remake of Sydney Anglicanism or would it lead to a period of calm and moderation designed to heal divisions in the interests of unity? That was the larger option confronting the Election Synod of March 1993. The synods that govern Anglican dioceses are legislative bodies organised along parliamentary lines. Like a parliament, their function is to pass laws in respect of all matters concerning the order of the Church within the diocese and the regulation of its affairs. Under the 1902 Constitutions Act, the Synod of Sydney must meet at least once a year and a new synod must be elected every three years. Its members include the Archbishop (as president), ministers licensed to parishes, provisional parishes and recognised churches (roughly 250 in all) who comprise the house of clergy, lay representatives elected by parishes (two each, making a total of around 470) to a house of laity, and a small clutch of other church officials and licensed members of the clergy selected by the Archbishop (in all 58). Synod also elects a Standing Committee to function as an ‘executive’ in between its yearly meetings. Since the Standing Committee has the responsibility for preparing and proposing the business before each Synod—and acts as a council of advice to the Archbishop (the ‘Archbishop-in-council’)— it is enormously powerful in its own right and can influence the outcome of synod deliberations. Although the laity outnumbers the clergy in Synod by two to one, it is the latter who dominate debates. In an election synod for Archbishop, however, the successful candidate must receive a majority of votes in both houses. It is not unusual for factions to form around preferred candidates and contests are often fiercely fought. Given what was at stake for the Diocese, the tussle over Robinson’s successor was unlikely to prove an exception. When the Synod convened on 29 March nine names were put forward for the position, but already an attempt had been made to kill off the candidacy of one nominee. This was the Right Rev. John Reid, Bishop of South Sydney, deputy to Archbishop Robinson, and administrator of the Diocese during the interregnum between Robinson’s leaving and his replacement being decided. Some observers regarded Reid as the logical 11
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successor. Apart from a wealth of administrative experience, Reid was essentially a status quo candidate. He had an expansive view of the Diocese in which it was very much a part of the wider Anglican Communion rather than an ecclesiastical ghetto. He was a strong advocate of the view that the Church was more than the sum of its individual parishes and congregations and had an identity not reducible to them. He saw the role of bishops as primarily pastoral rather than visionary or managerial. And he was a strong advocate of the view that the Church must maintain as a priority its commitment to social welfare work. All of this was anathema to radical conservatives—and some of it suggested that, over time, Reid might prove soft on women’s ordination as it became the norm throughout the rest of the church. At 64 years of age, Reid was also the oldest candidate. This presented a vulnerability his opponents could exploit without directly challenging his views on the Church and so exposing their agenda. During the synod meeting the previous October a bill was introduced to limit the retirement age of archbishops to 65 years. Had it passed, Reid’s bid to be the next archbishop would sink before it was officially launched. Debate on the bill, however, was successfully deferred for twelve months. When it was passed—in 1993—the requirement was amended to set the retirement age of Robinson’s successor at 70 years with the 65-year limit to take effect after that. Another leading contender was the chief inspiration behind REPA—and its then chairman—the Rev. Phillip Jensen. Barely in his mid-forties, Phillip had already made an impressive name for himself within the Diocese. In the late 1970s, he had been appointed to the struggling parish of St Matthias, Centennial Park and before long had turned its fortunes around dramatically. From one of the smallest outposts in the Diocese (with about 30 regular parishioners in 1978), St Matthias quickly grew into what was claimed to be the largest Anglican parish in the entire country. That claim is hard to substantiate unequivocally but certainly by the early 1990s well over 1000 people were meeting weekly in seven congregations linked to the parish. Phillip Jensen also ran a highly successful chaplaincy at the 12
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University of New South Wales where he attracted hundreds of students daily to his lunchtime lectures and directed a host of pastors in university and home-based Bible study groups. Many of his students also progressed (through the Ministry Training Scheme which he developed) to Moore College. These students comprised 20–30 per cent of the annual college intake, thus giving the Jensen outlook even more influence in the Diocese. Phillip was also instrumental in the development of the Matthias publishing empire—now one of the largest religious publishers in this country with about half of its sales overseas. Phillip Jensen’s undergraduate degree was in geography and those who know him well say he sees the world through a geographer’s eyes: lands to explore, conquer and settle in ways appropriate to the conditions. A charismatic preacher and outstanding organiser, he could also be abrasive, uncompromising and controversial. Through REPA, for instance, he championed the supremacy of local congregations, the dismantling of denominational structures and traditional liturgies where these were seen as obstacles to the spread of the gospel, and the notion of a church that was ‘evangelical first, Anglican second’.14 Initially, other members of REPA were disinclined to risk the future of the organisation by confusing its broad aims with the specific issue of Phillip’s bid for Archbishop, recalls Robert Forsyth. But when the candidacy became a fait accompli, most REPA members got behind it. ‘Phillip’s bid for Archbishop,’ insists Ballantine-Jones, ‘was not in the minds of the 20 REPA “colonels” as the main game. The main game was to reform the structures of our Diocese so that it would be more effective in preaching the gospel.’ Certainly having an archbishop sympathetic to this agenda would not hurt and so the ‘colonels’ ’ bid to seize control of the Diocese was mounted. If the main game was to free up the regulatory framework of the Diocese and to plant churches—both key items on REPA’s agenda—this would have to wait; for the moment, Ballantine-Jones says, REPA had ‘become confused with Phillip-as-Archbishop’. The only other nominees given any chance of election were the Right Rev. Paul Barnett, Bishop of North Sydney, and the Right Rev. 13
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Harry Goodhew, Bishop of Wollongong. Both were seen as moderates by Sydney standards and both emphasised the need to restore unity in the Diocese after the turbulence of the women’s ordination debate. The first ballot on 29 March eliminated the other five candidates. Phillip Jensen moved to the ‘select list’ by virtue of his support in the house of clergy alone; the candidatures of Barnett and Goodhew passed to the ‘select list’ with large majorities in both houses. The session ended that night before Reid’s nomination could be considered but by then, according to one insider, ‘all the angst was about Phillip; [his] nomination was incredibly divisive’.15 Phillip Jensen’s supporters were making two arguments in his favour: first, that his critics didn’t really know him personally, and second, that he had exceptional leadership qualities, evident in his track record at St Matthias and as chaplain at the University of New South Wales. But lay members of the Synod were apprehensive about him and about the program of radical church reform he seemed to want to bring to the job. According to Robert Tong, a Phillip supporter, there was a ‘failure on the part of [Jensen’s] promoters to actually try and win over the lay people. We assumed [lay support] would be there because there was a significant clergy following and we assumed that it would get translated to the lay people’. Whether this was arrogance or simply oversight is a matter for debate. Ahead of the election, REPA also conducted a political campaign of meetings and rallies in support of Phillip that was uncharacteristic of archbishop elections. That might have frightened the horses as well, says Tong.16 Prior to the second ballot on 31 March, the Rev. Tim Harris made a speech based on his having worked with Jensen as a student minister in the early 1980s. Harris pointed out that different leadership positions required different leadership qualities. From this perspective he argued that Phillip Jensen had a ‘polarising’ personality and management style. Those who responded positively to him were extremely loyal and dedicated; others simply found him impossible to work with. Given the internal tensions in the Diocese, Harris concluded, it would be better for Phillip to remain in a ministry context where he could exercise his gifts more effectively than he might as Archbishop and for 14
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someone like Goodhew, who had the ability to develop positive relationships with people who had views and outlooks different to his own, to lead the Diocese.17 How much Harris’s comments struck a chord with electors cannot be known, but the swing against Jensen among the clergy in the second ballot was strong and the laity remained unconvinced of his suitability. As a result, according to Michael Horsburgh, suddenly ‘the coup plan was all at sixes and sevens’. The nomination of Phillip, he believes, was a ‘tactical error of the greatest moment’.18 But had the nomination been premature from the perspective of the reformers around Phillip? ‘In hindsight the answer has to be yes because he wasn’t elected but the very process of arguing that he should be elected raised the issues,’ Woodhouse argues. ‘So no, I don’t think that the doing of it was premature.’ Perhaps because a case for reform had been made, Synod members also voted not to include Reid’s name on the final list for consideration. Clearly the two distinct expressions of Anglicanism each man represented—the one radically conservative, the other much more traditionalist—lacked sufficient support to be decisive and a compromise candidate would have to emerge. ‘When John [Reid] and Phillip [Jensen] were eliminated,’ says Ballantine-Jones, ‘there was no plan B in terms of our people and so [the vote] scattered.’ It would settle on a choice between Bishops Barnett and Goodhew. Some months earlier, Stuart Piggin had been approached by Ballantine-Jones to organise Goodhew’s election bid. Although by then heading Menzies College at Macquarie University, Piggin knew Goodhew well—he had supervised his postgraduate work on the subject of church growth at Wollongong University—and the two were close friends. Goodhew himself did not want a particularly political campaign but Piggin and a small group of supporters who ‘loved the cut of his jib’ thought it appropriate to give some strategic shape to his nomination. The approach the group agreed upon was to organise speeches on the first night of the Election Synod focusing on their candidate’s personal qualities, speeches on the second night outlining his plans for the Diocese, and speeches on the third and final night arguing why Goodhew was the right man for the job. ‘All the 15
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enthusiasm in the speeches, the youth and the vigour and the direction was all for Harry,’ Piggin recalls. Barnett enjoyed some support within Anglicans Together but, more importantly, among many conservative clergy—at least initially. ‘Until ’92,’ says Ballantine-Jones, ‘the conservatives always thought that Paul Barnett would be their man because theologically he is very much part of that [conservative] camp.’ But cautious remarks Barnett had made about not rocking the boat in pursuit of Church reform had alienated many clergy in the lead-up to the Election Synod. In the final ballot, on 1 April, he lost by a narrow margin of 267 votes to 203 in the house of laity and 137 to 122 in the house of clergy. ‘When you look at the numbers there wasn’t much in it at the final vote,’ comments Tong. ‘So Harry got in by a squeak as it were.’ Harry Goodhew was the new Archbishop of Sydney—though with an ominously weak mandate.
Down but not out In his first press conference following his election, Goodhew said that he would hold the line against women’s ordination but seek ways to expand the ministry of women in Sydney in areas such as preaching, counselling and community work. Asked for his opinion on homosexuality he took a moderate line; in moral terms, he replied, homosexuality was a condition no different to heterosexuality but the Bible was clear that ‘homosexual practices are contrary to the mind of God’.19 On the eve of his installation on 29 April, he committed himself to dialogue and the toleration of diversity within the Diocese. ‘My effort will be, particularly within my own diocese, to be open to all those who want to talk, so together we can discuss and plan not only how we live through the present time, but how we can use it creatively.’20 Above all what he would seek to do was put the conflict and divisions of the recent past behind so that the Diocese could make its contribution to the life of the Church and society. As an example of the latter, he also pointedly said that increasing assistance to Sydney’s needy would be a priority of his term in office. 16
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Goodhew’s leadership style would reflect his personality—affable and unpretentious—while his views on the nature of Anglicanism grew out of his own personal journey in faith. ‘My commitments have found their home and expression within the Anglican Church, because I am convinced that its doctrines and formularies support and express those things which I hold dear,’ he told the Synod in his inaugural address as its president in October 1993. ‘Because of that I have not only been a member of this Church, but I have accepted ordination, consecration and election as a diocesan bishop within it. Therefore, the Diocese should know that I am set to lead according to those principles and convictions and to advance that cause within its life.’ To that end, he again expressed his opposition to women’s ordination and also to moves to allow lay people to preside at Holy Communion. On both counts, he said, his objection stemmed not from theology but from considerations of church order. For the same reason, he spoke at length about liturgical reform— a cause célèbre of REPA’s Young Turks: Whatever the reasons we now have a situation where many clergy have problems of conscience, caught between the pressures of sworn undertakings and the desire to be relevant to people for whom they sincerely believe our present forms are not appropriate. For lay people, the problem is also acute. Some feel cheated and hurt that order, balance and predictability have been replaced by forms which are shallow and unsatisfying. Others are delighted by services which are relaxed, fast moving, contemporary in expression and which contain the element of the unexpected. Mix this with those who use set forms in a way that people find attractive, edifying and sustaining and you have a picture of a situation which is complex indeed.21
Not only was this a complex situation: it was one whose outcome would have a major impact on the shape and future of the Anglican Church. In typical fashion, Goodhew appealed to all sides in this debate for dialogue, understanding and compromise. But he also let his own thoughts on the issue be known by reading to the Synod concerns expressed to him in a letter from Bishop Anthony Nichols of North West Australia: 17
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Sydney is the spiritual powerhouse of the Anglican Church and must not turn its back on the rest of the denomination. There are many congregations and thousands of faithful believers around the country holding on in discouraging circumstances. They are not necessarily evangelical, but they are Christ-centred and wonderfully responsive to faithful teaching when it comes their way. It may be hard for Sydney friends to imagine, but the Prayer Book Services and the systematic reading of Scripture are their spiritual bread and butter, their source of knowledge both of God’s grace in Jesus, and of the Christian walk. Sydney must not selfishly abandon them and turn in on itself by, for example, failing to provide maximum input and leverage in the process of Prayer Book revision. Be sure that Sydney will not escape the influence of the world, the flesh and the devil, by cutting itself off from non-evangelical dioceses!
After that indirect broadside, Goodhew moved on to other matters without further comment but with no one left in any doubt about where his sympathies lay. Media accounts of the address dwelt on Goodhew’s strategies to encourage the growth of active participation in the life of the Diocese (he set an overall target of a 5 per cent increase in attendance each year), primarily by rationalising the number, and strengthening the resources, of parishes and by creating a fifth regional area under a new assistant bishop to cater to the specific needs of the expanding southwestern suburbs of Sydney.22 His chief operating principle was ‘that the strength of the Diocese lay in its parishes and that therefore [the hierarchy] ought to do whatever we could to promote the life of the parishes and their capacity to reach out and touch the lives of others’. This much was perfectly consistent with the locus of Christian life that the more radical reformers in the Diocese had imbued from the teachings of Knox. But in terms of the politics of the Sydney church, Goodhew’s decision to take head-on the growing challenge from many of those same reformers to the accepted liturgical expression of Anglicanism was incendiary. It signalled that while Goodhew may have been a compromise choice as Archbishop with a slim mandate, 18
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he was not intimidated by the circumstances in which he came to office and would be his own man with his own agenda. It also ensured that he would have a fight on his hands in the days to come. For all his confidence, Goodhew was not immune to early miscalculations in his attempt to bring the Diocese to heel. Some of these were merely tactical—raising suspicions about his intentions—but others were strategic and so ultimately far more damaging to his attempts to build a support base for his leadership. Arguably, one example of the first was his decision to chair a conference on the ordination of women in Parramatta less than three months after his election. A motion to hold the conference had been passed by Synod the previous October and Goodhew had accepted the invitation to chair it in his capacity as Bishop of Wollongong. But he was now Archbishop and the outcome of the meeting—which drew almost 400 participants, the majority of whom were pro women’s ordination—could only encourage supporters of MOW.23 Part of the blame for this unwanted encouragement (the October 1993 Synod put the issue on the backburner by imposing a moratorium on discussion of the ordination of women for three years) would inevitably be attributed to Goodhew. The position he took in another conflict in the Diocese would raise the opposition against him significantly and have a profound impact on his early years in office. In February 1993, the Rev. David Gilmour was appointed rector of St Swithun’s, Pymble, on the suggestion of the Principal of Moore College, Dr Peter Jensen, among others. Gilmour soon began to alienate members of the congregation with both his leadership style and his low church reformist agenda. In November a parish meeting was convened in which a majority of the 250 people present (about half the congregation) voted to oust Gilmour from his post. (Gilmour had been accused of conduct likely to bring the church into disrepute although the nature of the charges had not been made public.) A Church Board of Inquiry into the affair was set up, but in December Goodhew suggested that it might be better if Gilmour simply resigned from the post without further ado.24 19
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Gilmour refused to budge. Under Anglican Church law, a rector is not a diocesan employee but the holder of an office and once he has been assigned a parish he cannot be forced to resign unless he is charged and found guilty of a serious offence. When the inquiry delivered its report a year later, it found that Gilmour was in breach of a number of his ordination vows, had caused a major decrease in the congregation, had acted in ‘an authoritarian and peremptory manner’, was ‘unwilling to accept reasonable advice’ and was unable to work with staff. ‘In our view,’ the authors of the report concluded, ‘these findings proved his incapacity and inefficiency as a leader of the Parish of Pymble.’ Goodhew duly removed Gilmour from the parish, prompting the latter to comment that the Archbishop had ‘lost the support of the clergy in instituting this outrageous action and crippled his term and the office of archbishop’.25 In hindsight, Goodhew acknowledged that there was more than an element of truth in that outburst. His election had been seen as essentially the choice of the laity, Goodhew said, and his handling of the St Swithun’s affair ‘tended to perhaps make the clergy feel that I wouldn’t always support them’. Ken Handley goes further. ‘Harry got off to a great start,’ he says. ‘He was really trying to lead the Diocese to be outward-looking and mission-minded in the Sydney area and was starting to galvanise the Diocese when the problem at St Swithun’s hit. By and large it split the Standing Committee and it split the Synod and we had a period of infighting until Gilmour was removed. And then the matter settled down. The whole process took about two years, and there were constant attempts by Gilmour supporters to derail it.’ Handley offers several reasons, among them a perception that the tenure of the clergy was under threat and another simply a question of ‘mateship’. ‘Eventually all these challenges were beaten off but in the process a lot of damage was done to the Diocese and Harry Goodhew’s attempt to try and galvanise the Diocese into being more mission-minded was permanently disrupted.’ According to Stephen Judd, one of Goodhew’s key synod strategists, the Archbishop’s handling of the complaints against Gilmour 20
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demonstrated his sympathy for the legitimate interests of the laity— and would prove consistent with Goodhew’s later attempts to harness the energies of ordinary Anglicans behind a broad program of social engagement he felt it appropriate the Diocese involve itself in. But the clergy resented Goodhew precisely because of the position he had taken: ‘Previously the clergy always thought that, if push came to shove, the Archbishop, as chief shop steward, would back his clergy.’26 A cleavage was opening in the ecclesiastical ranks. But not everything that was going against Goodhew was entirely of his own doing. In the closing stages of Archbishop Robinson’s episcopate, a management scheme was proposed that would focus significant power with respect to driving diocesan initiatives in a Diocesan Executive Board but Standing Committee wouldn’t allow it. ‘Standing Committee weren’t prepared to surrender up that sort of leadership to a small group,’ Goodhew recalls. Instead, a compromise was forced on the Archbishop whereby he got his executive committee—but its members were elected not by him but by the Standing Committee he had planned to circumvent in the interests of greater efficiency. ‘Because there were so many competing interests [on the executive], it was an exercise ultimately in frustration from my point of view,’ is how Goodhew judged the result. Another opportunity available to Goodhew in his attempts to drive his own agenda was the selection of those bishops (known as assistant bishops) who would support him in his episcopacy. He retained Paul Barnett as Bishop for North Sydney and Bishop Peter Watson—although he was moved to South Sydney. That left three positions to fill: Parramatta, Wollongong and the new regional area of Georges River. Goodhew was not inclined to reward friendship with office—a policy that may have denied him an inner circle of strong, trusted confidantes. But he also had to contend with the Standing Committee once again. Less than four months after his election, Goodhew proposed Canon Peter Kemp of Parramatta as a bishop but Standing Committee rejected the choice. Robert Tong, one of those who refused to support the nomination, explains his decision in terms of Kemp’s low profile in the Diocese’s peak 21
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decision-making body: ‘In the three years [Kemp] was on the Standing Committee, I don’t recall one speech [he gave]. So I voted against him. I could not support a name for a regional bishop where I’ve not heard him make any contribution on policy or any other matter on Standing Committee. So he was a blank sheet.’ Even so, the rejection of Kemp was one of the rare times an Archbishop’s nomination for an assistant bishop had ever been knocked back— an unheard-of move by the Standing Committee, according to Michael Horsburgh—and certainly another serious blow to Goodhew’s authority.27 Subsequently Brian King was appointed Bishop of Parramatta, Reg Piper to Wollongong and Ray Smith to Liverpool. Goodhew says he chose them because he wanted men who were not associated with either of the two major blocs (Reid’s and Jensen’s) that had emerged in the lead-up to his election and because he wanted bishops with strong pastoral credentials. But not everybody appreciated the result. ‘[Kemp] was a poor selection in a way and I think Harry’s other selections were all of that character: that is, folk like him who were in some ways weaker versions of him,’ suggested one senior figure in the Diocese.28 According to Michael Horsburgh, however, it was Standing Committee that had ‘forced [the Archbishop] to put up people who were ineffective’. Certainly one of the costs was that these appointments tended to lack other credentials that would prove crucial to Goodhew’s capacity to lead. ‘They were not on the whole great political operators in terms of operating with the Diocese,’ Goodhew subsequently acknowledged. ‘So in a sense I may have forfeited some firepower in the Standing Committee with the choices I made.’ He also created a perceptual problem that the men he appointed—as well as some of those he relied upon for advice—weren’t quite part of the Sydney tribe. ‘Harry felt like an outsider,’ recalls Robert Forsyth. ‘I think of [former US President] Jimmy Carter when I think of Harry: he came from Georgia—which is Wollongong—brought his Georgians with him and never felt at home here in Washington.’ The early setbacks at the hands of the existing power brokers convinced Goodhew’s supporters that, in the words of Stuart Piggin, 22
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‘Standing Committee was obstructionist and not particularly interested in working with him’ and that ‘nothing would happen in the Diocese unless we got a majority on Standing Committee who would support him’. The initiative that would emerge behind that goal had no formal name, no clearly defined membership, and not even a bank account, recalls Stephen Judd. The feeling among those involved was that they ‘did not support people on the basis of them voting as a bloc, nor did we caucus . . . We wanted people to have their own mind and to make up their own mind rather than toe a party line.’ The result became known as the Blue Ticket—a list of candidates for Standing Committee elections (their names were printed on blue paper) who would contest the rival ticket promoted by the Anglican Church League (ACL) and so present a direct challenge to the powerbrokers of the Diocese. The ACL was established in 1909 to defend the evangelical character of the Sydney Diocese against what its members regarded at the time as the predatory advance of Anglo-Catholic and liberal Anglicanism. At first the league was not a narrowly partisan organisation but it gradually became dominated by conservative evangelicals. ACL set its main policy objectives as defending and advancing the Protestant and Reformed principles of the Church and promoting local churches as the fundamental sphere of Christian ministry. It did this by sponsoring lectures, re-launching the evangelical newspaper Church Record, and monitoring developments in the Diocese. But its most formidable weapon was its preselection of candidates for elected diocesan positions. In 1933, ACL had issued its first ‘how to vote’ ticket to selected members of Synod—a highly successful method it would continue to employ to limit the influence of liberals and more moderate evangelicals in the Diocese. In the lead-up to the October 1993 election for Standing Committee, the ACL ticket had left off key supporters of Goodhew’s election such as Piggin—although he managed to secure election. ‘This was all payback time,’ suggests Piggin, and an indication that the ACL intended to make life impossible for Goodhew by narrowing down further the acceptable expression of evangelicalism 23
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in the Diocese. According to Ballantine-Jones, however, it was a serious error: ‘hotheads’ in the ACL, he argues, were convinced that they had more support than they actually did and wanted to exclude Goodhew’s supporters. The exclusions went against Ballantine-Jones’ advice that this would only create an organised opposition to the ACL—which, in a sense, it did. ‘One of the Reformation doctrines Blue Ticket people I think believed in rather strongly was liberty of thought and liberty of conscience and the fact that you’re entitled to form your own opinion about things and change your mind and be free spirits,’ comments Piggin. ‘And the thing about the conservatives [is] they’re very much party men. Blue Ticket weren’t party people; it’s a conspiracy of friendships I guess and we were all motivated by the clear conviction that [Harry] was the best man for the job.’ The gambit paid off when the Blue Ticket managed to get as many people elected to Standing Committee as the ACL (leaving a core ACL representation of 14 out of the 35 committee members elected). ‘This was the first time since 1933 that the ACL had such a defeat inflicted on them,’ observes Judd. As a result, says Piggin, ‘for three years, from 93 to 96, Harry had a Standing Committee where he could get things done’. But the result also helped galvanise those impatient over the direction of the Diocese. After the defeat of Phillip Jensen’s bid to be elected Archbishop, REPA, in the words of Robert Forsyth, ‘went underground’ and, as an organisation, eventually ‘got lost in the fight between Harry and Phillip which slowly grew over the 90s’. The fight wasn’t long in coming. Less than a month after his election, Goodhew had been invited to a REPA gathering at Gladesville. ‘The first thing he said,’ recalls Ballantine-Jones, was in effect, ‘now I’m Archbishop, REPA can disband. Well, that went down like a lead balloon.’ But if organisationally REPA was largely defunct, as a movement those drawn to it simply regrouped with a determination to put the lessons they had learnt from the campaign to elect Phillip to better use the next time. In the meantime, they set their sights on a new vehicle through which to press their cause. The ACL was the 24
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obvious choice. The Blue Ticket’s success in the Standing Committee election only confirmed the impression that the league had become somewhat moribund. It remained a potentially unstoppable party organisation within the Sydney church by virtue of the fact that it was dominated by the clergy—David Gilmour was its chairman in 1993 and a member of REPA—but its leadership had begun to lose both focus and political weight. Moreover, says Goodhew, those who were in the leadership were ‘probably not significant leaders in the Diocese’ by the early 1990s. Ballantine-Jones had lost his seat on the Standing Committee in 1993. (Other notables not elected as lay representatives included Laurie Scandrett, who had opposed Owen Dowling’s attempt to ordain women, and Doug Marr, the bursar of Moore College.) That outcome, says Ballantine-Jones, ‘freed me up’ to do other things. The following year, Ballantine-Jones became ACL president and helped oversee the more than doubling of its membership to 400 in the next seven years. ‘It was clearly obvious that a very useful piece of machinery was being developed quite systematically and consciously,’ says Goodhew. It was also obvious to insiders that the old REPA fold were behind the push. ‘The [1993] election made people who were in that REPA camp feel that they were really not prepared enough for the election and that therefore there was too much free space for people in which to move.’ Under ACL’s purposeful new leadership, the space began to narrow. It would soon reach the point, Goodhew adds, where ‘if you weren’t in [the league] you were not quite appropriate’. Goodhew also made enemies in 1994 when he attempted to break the stranglehold Moore College had on the selection process for clergy in the Diocese by setting up his own committee to decide on matters of training and appointments. ‘It was a very significant thing for him to do,’ says Michael Horsburgh, who was asked to join the committee, ‘because he perceived that there is a fundamental conflict of interest between the [office of the] Archbishop of Sydney and the [office of the] Principal of Moore College insofar as the Principal of Moore College runs a monopoly organisation virtually supplying 25
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clergy to the Diocese of Sydney and they have that monopoly not only over the training of the clergy—the supply—but also over the selection of persons who would enter the college.’ One result was a uniformity of ideas among the clergy; another was the continuing control Moore exercised by way of the strong relationships forged during student years at the college. ‘It’s the practice of the Diocese,’ Horsburgh explains, ‘for each graduating year to continue to meet together as a cell group.’ Attendance at these meetings nurtures a particular ideological commitment, he suggests; non-attendance is viewed with great suspicion. Goodhew’s idea was that the committee might select some candidates for ministry and send them outside Sydney for training (as other dioceses do, even those with their own theological colleges). The test case was a proposal brought before the Standing Committee by Archdeacon Geoff Huard that two Maori men living in the Diocese be sent for training to St John’s College in Auckland and come back to minister to the Maori community in Sydney. ‘Well, you should have heard the reaction [in Standing Committee],’ says Horsburgh. ‘It was as though the sky had fallen in.’ There were charges of a campaign to betray Moore College and the ‘purity’ of the Diocese and attacks on the whole notion of enculturation (or the idea that the faith might be adapted somewhat differently within different cultural contexts). The proposal was killed off and Goodhew’s selection committee suffered a similar fate under his successor. Meanwhile, the newly regrouped reformist faction in the ACL prepared to push ahead with their agenda at the October 1994 Synod. REPA founding member the Rev. John Woodhouse fired the first salvo when he introduced a motion to approve lay presidency. Seventeen years earlier a synod committee had been asked to investigate the issue (its report, in 1983, saw the move as ‘thoroughly in keeping’ with the gospel29) but its desirability—not to mention constitutional validity—was another matter. Introducing lay presidency in Sydney would have the effect of further moving the Diocese away from the sacramental life of the Church. It would strengthen the autonomy of local churches along congregational 26
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lines and also complicate the ordination of women priests issue by confusing the role and function of priestly ministry. Not surprisingly, given the comments in his presidential address the year before, Goodhew indicated that he would exercise his right of veto if the legislation came before his desk. ‘Our order has not thought that it was exalting one sacrament above another or elevating the Lord’s Supper above the Word when it maintained the position of the presbyter in the administration of this sacrament,’ he told the Synod. ‘I am not convinced that we have any need in our diocese to move beyond our present circumstances.’30 Goodhew subsequently elaborated on the reasons for his opposition to lay presidency in these terms: ‘As time went on, I was getting a greater feel for the role Sydney might have in the worldwide [Anglican] Communion and I was less anxious to put us on a collision course with many of the people across the South [the newer provinces of Africa, Asia and Latin America] who would not necessarily be in agreement on something like lay presidency. I guess I was beginning to feel that if we didn’t want to be seen to be the odd man out around the Communion, if we wanted to make a contribution on things that I considered to be more important, then I didn’t think it was strategic to take this step.’ Goodhew, in other words, was not endorsing a Roman Catholic view of priesthood but rather defending the established Anglican order of ministry. ‘The principle that I was operating on was that this was an issue our Church had resolved in a particular way and until the rest of the wider Communion resolved that it wanted to make a change of this nature it wasn’t appropriate for us to do so.’ But it was not only a matter of order for Goodhew. ‘There was a fear about sacramentalism [among some of those pushing for lay presidency] that I didn’t feel was part of an Anglican ethos.’ Regardless of Goodhew’s reasoning, Synod voted to ignore his argument and approve the motion on the introduction of lay presidency anyway. For an Archbishop barely eighteen months into his tenure, the vote indicated that powerful forces in the Diocese were gearing up to rule from below. 27
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By their deeds you will know them In March 1995, legislation for the introduction of lay presidency passed its second reading in Synod by a margin of 60 per cent to 40 per cent. The third and final reading was scheduled for October where, if it was again passed, only the Archbishop’s veto (a power enjoyed almost exclusively in Sydney) would stop it becoming law. The push for lay presidency posed such a threat that Goodhew raised it in a private meeting with the country’s other bishops in May—three months before General Synod was due to convene in Melbourne and consider a report on the issue. To allow lay presidency, Goodhew told the meeting, would divide, possibly even split, the Diocese of Sydney from the rest of the Australian Anglican Church. ‘I felt I had to let them know what was happening and what my stance was,’ Goodhew explains. ‘If it went forward, it was not of my doing.’ Plans afoot among some conservative Sydney evangelicals to ‘plant’ churches outside the Diocese were also causing tensions with some other bishops, Goodhew adds. ‘I felt I needed to be open with them.’ But Goodhew was coming under pressure on other fronts as well. In March, he felt the need to reassert his position on homosexuality after a comment made by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr George Carey, in response to the ‘outing’ by gay activists of the Bishop of London, Dr David Hope. Homosexuality was at variance with the Christian moral tradition, Carey said, but many homosexuals nevertheless demonstrated the ‘marks of genuine Christian character’. Carey’s statement had no official bearing on the Diocese of Sydney but it outraged conservatives in its ranks. Goodhew responded by issuing a warning that that the church could not support homosexual clergy or laity who flagrantly breached Christian teachings and refused to lead ‘chaste lives’.31 Two months later, after heavy lobbying from unnamed senior Church members, Goodhew issued a statement on the upcoming visit to Sydney by Bishop Penny Jamieson of Dunedin, New Zealand. Jamieson, the first woman in the world to become a diocesan bishop, was to be the main speaker of a conference organised by MOW. 28
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Goodhew used his statement to reaffirm the Diocese’s opposition to women priests. ‘The Synod of the Diocese of Sydney has passed legislation permitting women to be ordained as deacons,’ the statement read. ‘It has declined to pass legislation permitting women to be ordained as priests.’ As a result, Jamieson would only be allowed to officiate as a deacon in any church in the Diocese. Those who invited her knew the rules, Goodhew pointed out, and ‘must have been aware that this would be the situation during her visit’. The national convenor of MOW , Dr Janet Scarfe, replied that Sydney’s actions only served to highlight its isolation from the rest of the country on the issue.32 More immediately, it seemed to indicate a hardening of Goodhew’s position. As Archbishop he had allowed women to preach without restriction in Sydney churches provided that they had the approval of the relevant rector. He had also appointed the Diocese’s first female archdeacon. His reasoning, he explained, was that the Diocese had once been more welcoming to women’s ministry but that attitudes had ‘hardened up around the REPA time’ and he was ‘reacting to that hardening up’. Now, however, he seemed to be reacting to the ‘hardening up’ not by resisting but by giving in to it. Yet another divisive issue was looming at the forthcoming General Synod in July. This would be Goodhew’s first General Synod as Archbishop of Sydney and one at which the calibre of his leadership would be on the line. On the agenda was consideration of the adoption of a new Prayer Book for Australia. Prepared by General Synod’s Liturgical Commission, the new Prayer Book aimed to be inclusive of all expressions of Anglican worship. For that reason, it was under attack from conservative evangelicals as conceding far too much to Anglo-Catholics, and 200 amendments had been put forward before the July General Synod had even begun.33 Goodhew made a considerable personal investment in the success of the project by horse-trading with Ballarat’s Bishop David Silk, the unofficial leader of the national church’s Anglo-Catholics, over a version acceptable to all sides. It was an uphill battle. ‘The situation was that our Diocese had lost interest in the Prayer Book because more and more people were moving away from using liturgical texts,’ he later explained. 29
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Consequently there was less input into the book by other Sydney participants in the drafting process. Others, however, have a somewhat different recollection of the events surrounding the General Synod vote on the new Prayer Book. Each night synod members from Sydney held meetings in their hotel to organise tactics for the debate, including the coordination of Anglo-Catholic representatives who were opposed to the new version. Goodhew chaired the meetings although he was staying elsewhere. But the plans agreed upon, even up to the night before the vote, were abandoned and Goodhew was persuaded by others outside the Diocese to change his mind on the floor of the General Synod without any further consultation with the Sydney representatives. His subsequent endorsement of the new Prayer Book, Ballantine-Jones says, ‘humiliated’ the group and cost Goodhew their trust. Tong, who was also a Sydney representative on the General Synod, agrees. There was a ‘massive sense of betrayal’ over Goodhew’s endorsement of the new Prayer Book, he says. ‘I think from that point onwards the conservatives really lost confidence in Harry’s judgment. [They believed] that he’d done the Diocese in.’ In any event, Goodhew persisted, believing that a common Prayer Book had merit and that if Sydney rejected this version of it the next would be even less sympathetic to its theological emphases. ‘My concern was that right across the Australian Church people had been nourished in their faith by a Prayer Book with strong biblical roots. This book may not have been as good as we might have wished but it was the best we could expect at this point.’ One concession he won was the addition of a preface to the book stating it was merely a ‘liturgical resource’—and not a Prayer Book in the terms the Constitution of the Church set out for such a work. It was a fine semantic distinction but it made possible an overwhelming vote of support by General Synod for the introduction of the Prayer Book. The Anglican Primate, Melbourne’s Archbishop Keith Rayner, called the result an ‘expression of unity’, even though a minority had rejected the new Prayer Book and even the Sydney representatives and their Archbishop were divided on the issue. As Rayner 30
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later explained, the philosophy behind the book was that ‘while both sides of the catholic-evangelical divide would regard some rites as unsatisfactory, there was adequate provision for both sides. In other words, it allowed for the inclusiveness which has generally been typical of Anglicanism’.34 Not everyone agreed with that assessment, especially in Sydney. Phillip Jensen, supported by a number of key REPA figures, labelled the new Prayer Book a ‘disaster for Anglicans’ and a ‘de facto parting of the ways’. According to him, the book’s ‘penchant for pre-Reformation medievalism profoundly obscures the word of Christ’. Its acceptance, Phillip declared, ‘will mean many faithful churchgoers will not have a clear, unambiguous presentation of the gospel’ and he concluded that, by adopting the book, the Church ‘is walking away from evangelicals’.35 While Goodhew disagreed, he was conscious of the sentiment against the new Prayer Book: ‘For that group of people who came from the REPA background and perhaps for others too, they felt that it had been a bit of a sell-out.’ Robert Forsyth offers an explanation for that feeling: ‘Sydney sees itself as a “pure land”. I don’t mean that in a critical sense but to know that [the new Prayer Book] is allowed here would make them feel marginalised. It’s a key point to understanding the conservative evangelicals. One of the fears we have is that we are not yet home in our own land.’ In this sense, the ferocity of the backlash should not have surprised Goodhew—although it clearly did. And instead of staring down the opposition, he blinked. Several days later, he issued a pastoral letter (only his second as Archbishop) in which he wrote that Sydney would not be rushed into considering whether or not to accept the new Prayer Book. To this end, he announced that a final decision would be delayed until the Synod in October 1996.36 It was hard not to read the pastoral letter as an embarrassing admission that Goodhew didn’t have the numbers to carry his own diocese in support of the book’s new version. But the delay also bought him time to appeal again for a sympathetic reception of it. As he told the Sydney Synod in October, the best way to preach the gospel was not by ‘locking ourselves in an evangelical enclave isolated from every other stream of thought and life in the Anglican Church. 31
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If we do, I think there is every chance we will turn in on ourselves and devour one another. Inevitable steps after a formal breach of relationships would be, first, the isolation of those within this Diocese not thought to be really evangelical; then divisions between “soft” and “hard” evangelicals, between Prayer Book evangelicals and non-Prayer Book evangelicals, divisions between evangelicals who assert this and evangelicals who assert that.’37 In time, this would prove to be a prescient assessment. Delaying a decision on the Prayer Book also bought Goodhew time to try to refocus the energies of the Diocese on other matters both internal and external to the Church. ‘I have a strong sense we do need to be engaging our society,’ he told a reporter covering the General Synod. ‘The Christian mind is the most satisfying intellectual structure for understanding life.’ But, he added, expressing a mild if uncharacteristic sense of frustration, ‘we are not engaging appropriately the intellectual challenges of our time’.38 The other burning issue that distracted attention from that kind of engagement—the debate over lay presidency—was also temporarily laid to one side in March. Synod passed a resolution moved by Michael Horsburgh requesting that the Primate refer the question of allowing lay people and deacons to preside at Holy Communion to the national Church’s legal body, the Appellate Tribunal. The seven-member tribunal, which included three bishops, would be asked to express an opinion on the constitutional validity of the proposed innovation. While a mere opinion would not be binding on anything decided by the Diocese of Sydney, it could not easily be ignored. Horsburgh also reasoned that there was a question about the legality of introducing lay presidency and that the move would be a delaying tactic that would allow more time to debate the issue. At the October Synod meeting, Goodhew again raised concerns about lay presidency. While saying that whatever Synod finally resolved on the issue would ‘carry great weight with me’, he also reminded the meeting that a bishop is ‘not elected to be a rubber stamp for the Synod’ but to be ‘the guardian of the faith and order of this church and, to the best of his ability, make decisions which serve 32
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that end’.39 Supporters of lay presidency, however, kept the pressure on by successfully moving a resolution inviting the Synod, in the light of ‘costs and other factors involved’ in arguing a position before the Appellate Tribunal, to have it drop the issue (the resolution was symbolic only and had no effect on the Tribunal’s proceedings) and another to proceed to the third reading of the enabling legislation but at the next Synod. The struggle was not over but a temporary cease-fire seemed to have come into effect while all sides positioned themselves for the next battle. Goodhew tried to use this opportunity to open debate within the Diocese on larger and, to his mind, more substantive issues. He brought up a serious obstacle that had arisen to the policy he had announced the previous year of establishing a system of low-fee Anglican schools in the growth areas of the Diocese by criticising the federal government for ‘discriminating’ against the church in its funding policies. The effort to build a system of fifteen such schools required access to the highest level of subsidy under the Commonwealth grants scheme. But a condition of that access was that a church already had three existing low-fee schools established in any one state. At the time, the Anglican Church had four such schools in the entire country (two of which were in New South Wales). Turning to what he had called in July the ‘intellectual challenges of our time’, Goodhew spoke at length about the euthanasia debate. He urged Anglicans to oppose any legislation intended to legalise the practice, sharply criticised the Speaker of the NSW Legislative Assembly for excluding representatives of the churches from participating in a parliamentary forum on euthanasia, and called for more support for palliative care services throughout the community. He challenged all parishes and church organisations ‘to work with and on behalf of the indigenous people in our midst’ including engaging in ‘advocacy work alongside them when community, social and legislative actions demand it’. He also lent his support to community drug rehabilitation programs and to tougher penalties for the leaders of drug rings who ‘earn their huge incomes at the expense of the lives and the hope of young Australians’.40 33
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But already another headache was developing. One of the issues talked about at great length in the early REPA meetings was ‘planting’ new churches and congregations in areas where it was thought existing parishes had lost their vitality or strayed too far from the evangelical path. In 1994, Synod had passed a resolution moved by Phillip Jensen to recognise that ‘planting and developing new churches is an effective way to reach our nation with the Gospel’ and called for the development of a draft diocesan strategy for evangelistic planting. A report was commissioned from a nine-member working party which released a draft strategy in October 1995. Among its recommendations was that ‘we encourage crossing not only parish, deanery and regional, but also diocesan boundaries if the Gospel will increase’. It added that this should be done in ‘fellowship and harmony with our brothers and sisters as we cross agreed boundary lines’. The draft was noted by Synod which recommended its further study, including ‘consideration of its inter-church ecumenical implications’. Some of those implications, however, were already becoming only too apparent. Plans by the Rev. Brian Telfer, leader of the bustling evangelical Christ Church, Gladesville, to establish a church on the Central Coast in competition with existing congregations in the Newcastle Diocese caused the Bishop of Newcastle, the Right Rev. Roger Herft, to complain of a ‘sinister’ threat to church unity.41 In December Herft, regarded as a moderate—even high church— Anglican, made a public plea to Goodhew to intervene to stop the initiative. Goodhew duly met Telfer and advised him that he could not license Sydney clergy to work in another diocese. ‘People were making a choice between what they saw as their commitment to ecclesiastical structures and to spreading the gospel,’ he later explained. ‘And that’s where their hearts were and from one point of view I understand that. But I felt that we were operating within a structure and I had to support that [structure].’ Telfer was duly told by the Archbishop that the proposed church ‘can’t be Anglican and have my blessing because the structures don’t allow that’. But Telfer, insisting the Central Coast was being ‘lost’ to the Bible, said that he 34
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was determined to go ahead anyhow. He would establish an independent Christian parish near Gosford—for legal reasons it could not be called ‘Anglican’—and neither Herft nor Goodhew had the power to stop it receiving financial assistance indirectly from Gladesville or any other existing parish.42 This move was in defiance of Goodhew’s wishes but not of the spirit in which the draft strategy on church planting had been written and received by Synod. The emphasis on parish-supported and directed church plants—as opposed to diocesan-directed initiatives— was engineered intentionally to comply with the way the draft strategy had been written: bishops and synods could not be responsible for parish activities over which they had no control and might in any event find questionable. This arrangement satisfied the impatience of conservative evangelicals to spread their influence even if it also threatened the credibility of their Archbishop—and the unity of the Church. In the opinion of John Cornish of Anglicans Together, ‘there was a constant tension between [Harry’s] opinions and the people who wanted to convert the Diocese to what it has become’. Going into 1996, the complexion of the Diocese was still up for grabs and the outcome was anything but a forgone conclusion. Already apparent, however, was what would decide the issue. Goodhew had good reasons for the positions he took; those who took exception to them, or felt they didn’t go far enough, could also muster a good case of their own. But any settlement based on humility, generosity or charity was now out of the question. The direction of the Sydney Diocese would be determined not by any distinctive Christian approach to problem solving but by the crude exercise of political power.
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2
Battle lines are drawn And yet, for all his faith could see, I would not the good bishop be. —Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Problem, 1839
oward the end of his first year in office, Harry Goodhew was delivered a more sympathetic standing committee as a result of the mobilisation of diocesan moderates around the Blue Ticket. Hardcore Anglican Church League members on committee, however, still posed a risk. ‘From 1993 it was always a question of a solid caucused group [of ACL representatives] with a few on the margin versus others [Blue Ticket representatives] who had not caucused but made up their minds at the time of [any] debate,’ comments Stephen Judd. ‘It would always be hard to win.’ Hard, but not impossible. Reforms the new Archbishop subsequently introduced, however, had the effect of undermining even this tenuous balance in ways that would cost him critical leverage over time. After 1993, says Stuart Piggin—the man who helped direct Goodhew’s election bid and a member of the Blue Ticket—‘we then proceeded to commit suicide’. It was not a moral offence he was talking about but a political miscalculation with major implications for the direction of the Diocese and lessons for anyone who might one day hope to alter its course.
T
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Piggin explains that one issue Goodhew believed in strongly was getting the five diocesan regions (North Sydney, South Sydney, Parramatta, Wollongong, Georges River) better represented in the overall management of the Sydney church. To this end, membership on Standing Committee was divided into a central bloc of representatives—chosen by a vote of the Synod as a whole—and a regional bloc whose members were elected by the regional councils. The first Standing Committee election to be held under this new arrangement was scheduled for the end of 1996. Consequently the Anglican Church League, now under the more crafty political leadership of key figures from REPA, set about exploiting the change in voting to win back control of the Standing Committee by establishing regional ACL task forces to arrange the nominations for the regions. But conservative evangelicals were not about to put on hold their agenda and await the outcome of this political manoeuvring. One expression of their impatience was the push to plant churches in other dioceses, which continued to gain momentum through 1996. Supporters of the initiative could only have been encouraged by a report released in August of that year on the decline of the Anglican Church nationally. Drawing on data from the National Church Life Survey, the report—which was commissioned by the Bureau of Immigration, Multicultural and Population Research—found that falling attendance (down 3.8 per cent for Anglicans in the five years to 1991), together with an ageing of its membership, was contributing to the decline. ‘Although a loss of 3.9 per cent of the attending membership over five years may in itself not appear too desperate, continuation of the current trend in the long term will have a serious impact on Anglican attendance’, the report concluded.1 The fact that Sydney’s conservative evangelical parishes so clearly bucked this trend only seemed to some to make an even stronger case for replicating their formula for success inside and outside the Diocese irrespective of what others might think. To make matters worse, the national Church seemed intent on drifting even further from that formula. Earlier in the year the Primate, Melbourne’s Archbishop Keith Rayner, had called the appointment of women bishops the next logical step following the ordination of 37
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women priests and had commissioned a report into their consecration in his Diocese of Melbourne. In June, Goodhew issued a strong statement opposing the introduction of women bishops, saying it would lead to ‘impaired communion’ between Sydney and any diocese that embraced the move and would constitute a ‘threat’ to the fellowship of the national Church in the years ahead.2 In October, the Sydney Synod again took up the issue of women’s ordination to the priesthood following its three-year moratorium on debate. Addressing the Synod, Goodhew positioned himself ‘at the conservative end of the spectrum on this matter’ but insisted that women’s ministry generally must be advanced in the Diocese.3 Synod voted again to reject women’s ordination by 151–79 in the house of clergy and 210–200 in the house of laity. Opinion among the laity was now almost equally divided but the mood against women priests among the clergy remained virtually as strong as ever. This reality forced Goodhew to back away even from a compromise proposal he had considered of allowing women’s chaplaincies in hospitals and girls’ schools.4
Trench warfare The more significant personal defeat for Goodhew in 1996, however, was on the contentious issue of the new Prayer Book. After a heated debate lasting two days, and ahead of a secret ballot to decide whether Sydney would adopt the new version, Goodhew appealed to the Synod to make a decision ‘for the well-being of the Church, the Diocese and the whole country’.5 At stake was the struggle he had joined in his first address to the Synod as Archbishop three years earlier for an approach to liturgy that was faithful to the broad traditions of Anglicanism and to the integrity of the Church in Australia. But Goodhew’s entreaties failed to carry the day; Synod voted to reject adoption of the new Prayer Book for the Diocese as a whole—although it did permit the Archbishop to authorise its use in particular cases. ‘Ultimately,’ Rayner believes, ‘the motive of the Sydney hardliners was primarily theological, 38
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but it also reflected a growing opinion among them that common action within the Anglican Church of Australia was not of prime importance.’ The result also implied that Sydney would develop its own prayer book—what has become known where it is used as the ‘white prayer book’, which is essentially an order of services—and so become even more isolated from the rest of the Church. More immediately, however, it meant that Goodhew’s leadership had received a direct—and very public—challenge. The Archbishop suffered another major defeat in the Standing Committee elections of 1996 when the ACL won back considerable ground. It did so partly as a result of the Blue Ticket’s decision not to contest regional council elections, and partly because the league’s numbers were considerably strengthened by the regional representatives elected to Standing Committee—so that while the Blue Ticket still managed to win ten contested positions voted on by the Synod as a whole, ACL emerged with 20 of the overall 42 elected representatives. Changes to the Constitution of Standing Committee, however, further weakened the position of Goodhew’s supporters by depriving archdeacons (who were appointments of the Archbishop) of a vote. ‘Now there are five or six votes the Archbishop used to have in his pocket which he gave up,’ observes Ballantine-Jones. ‘Why would you do that? I don’t know. So with the drop of the ex-officio vote and us representing about 80 per cent of the regional vote, plus at least a half of the core [non-regional] vote, we got control of the Standing Committee back again.’ The Blue Ticket’s Stuart Piggin acknowledges the gravity of the 1996 election result. ‘We did badly,’ he says, ‘and so Standing Committee went backwards into a very monolithic, conservative group.’ Attempts three years earlier by some league members to form bridges to the Blue Ticket group were now also less of a priority, even though the group had demonstrated that it could still win positions against the ACL’s preferred candidates. Developments in the Diocese by this stage, Piggin suggests, were ‘tearing evangelicalism apart’ and the search for compromise was taking a back seat. Bruce BallantineJones was in any event dismissive of the Blue Ticket’s efforts, even 39
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though he had failed to regain his seat for the second time: ‘They had control [of the Standing Committee] for three years and they didn’t do anything with it.’ One of the first decisions of the new Standing Committee was to begin to restructure the Diocesan Executive Board by appointing 50 per cent of its members. A full-scale assault on Goodhew’s power and authority had begun. The following year he made several attempts to seize back the initiative when and where he could. In March, he again wrote a rare pastoral letter to the Sydney clergy urging a return to more traditional worship services. ‘We are in danger,’ he warned, ‘of losing something which has been a principal feature of our life and character.’6 Nine months later he would launch a $10 million public appeal to restore the interior and exterior of St Andrew’s Cathedral, arguing that the present generation of Anglicans had an opportunity to ‘pass something beautiful on to those who follow us’.7 That ‘something beautiful’, of course, would also be a physical expression of traditional Anglican architecture and liturgy, although Goodhew doesn’t explain his enthusiasm for the restoration in those terms. ‘My sense,’ he says, ‘was that people had overlooked the significance of a building of that character in the centre of the city and what it said about the nature of the city.’ He took a prominent role in public policy debates, joining Catholic and Uniting Church leaders to caution Prime Minister Howard on the dire consequences of cutting the budget for public housing and offering his opinion on the politically sensitive issue of Aboriginal land rights. In October, for instance, he used his presidential address to Synod to say that, as a Christian, ‘I cannot countenance extinguishment of native title’.8 The following month, Goodhew again joined other religious leaders in putting pressure on the Howard Government to moderate its proposed amendments to the Wik legislation on native title. None of this impressed the Archbishop’s critics. ‘I don’t think Harry had the intellectual wherewithal to carry the Diocese with him on these bigger issues,’ commented one senior figure in the Diocese.9 Robert Tong offers a somewhat similar appraisal. ‘Certainly on the burning issues at a Sydney level like women in ministry, lay administration, 40
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the Prayer Book—where there were lots of guys on the Synod really up to speed on the nuances and the give and take of it all—folk felt he didn’t give leadership and so his leadership on other issues, well, we wouldn’t oppose him but nothing much happened.’ Ballantine-Jones argues that Goodhew’s leadership had lost direction. ‘I perceive that Harry was trying to bring the Diocese back into the Anglican fold,’ he says. ‘And I don’t think he was sympathetic to what you might call the REPA agenda. One of the problems with Harry was that nobody ever knew what his agenda was. That was the whole thing, you see. What did Harry stand for?’ Through the course of 1997, it was not only public policy that attracted Goodhew’s attention but also the growing debate within the Anglican Church—and society generally—on the issue of homosexuality. In February he told a reporter during a national Anglican conference in Canberra that ‘being a priest has never been related to the condition of homosexuality or heterosexuality—it has been related to moral practice’. This was consistent with the line taken by the Primate and by Dr Peter Jensen of Moore College.10 Goodhew insists that he never changed his position—which is that homosexual ‘orientation is one thing; practice is another’—and that he was only repeating it because the issue ‘was becoming more and more prominent in society’ and also ‘coming onto the radar screen’ of the worldwide Anglican Church. Still, in September he seemed to toughen his stance on the issue by stating unequivocally that Sydney could never condone same-sex marriages or the ordination of practising homosexuals. The same month he also attended a meeting of conservative Anglican bishops in Fort Worth, Texas, where homosexuality—at least within the American Anglican Council, which represents 400 Episcopal (American Anglican) churches committed to preserving what they interpret as biblical orthodoxy—was uniformly regarded as condemned in the Bible.11 Reporting to the Sydney Synod in October, Goodhew said that during his visit to Fort Worth he had offered ‘support to theologically conservative bishops in the American Episcopal Church’ on the homosexuality issue and had returned ‘more deeply convinced than ever of the role that this Diocese has in the life 41
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of the worldwide Anglican Communion if we will exercise our influence with humility and candour’.12 Part of what this meant was the offer of Sydney’s support (both financial and theological) to African and South American dioceses as they began to assert themselves within the worldwide Church. Goodhew continued to work within the established system by dealing with bishops and with dioceses. But the links he was forging, intentionally or not, laid the seeds for a strategic alignment between Sydney and other conservative elements within the worldwide Church—including clerical dissidents as much as concerned hierarchs—the fruits of which would only become apparent under his successor. At the October Synod, Goodhew also won a partial victory in the continuing struggle over women’s ordination within the Diocese. A number of conservative Synod members, led by Peter Jensen, went into the meeting urging another moratorium on debate over the issue—a move that would take it off the agenda completely until Goodhew had retired as Archbishop and a successor been installed. In a telling reflection of the mood that had developed between supporters and opponents of women’s ordination, Goodhew pleaded for sanity and calm in the discussion. As well, he proposed convening a forum to explore a compromise position for the Diocese in the hope that Synod could concentrate on more pressing issues. Synod accepted the proposal, although some supporters of women’s ordination saw it less as a concession than another delaying tactic.13 But the respite from internal political squabbles was short lived. In January 1998 the Appellate Tribunal delivered its opinion on the constitutionality of lay presidency. By a majority of four to three (including two of the three bishops who sat on the tribunal), the opinion was that nothing in the Constitution of the Anglican Church of Australia prevented lay people and deacons leading the Holy Communion service. However, the tribunal also ruled that any move to allow lay presidency must be approved by the General Synod. It was a mixed blessing for proponents of the reform: on the one hand, the tribunal seemed to have set the stage for a break with centuries of clerical tradition under which only bishops and priests have been 42
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allowed to lead Holy Communion; on the other, the ruling made clear that no diocese could introduce lay presidency on its own. Obtaining the two-thirds majority at General Synod to introduce lay presidency would be a near impossible task and so it seemed for all intents and purposes that the kybosh had been put on attempts to introduce lay presidency.14 Even so, the Primate, Archbishop Rayner, clearly surprised, cautioned that the ‘narrowness of the majority on the major question and the fact that the majority opinion of the tribunal went against the virtually unanimous advice of the house of bishops and the board of assessors appointed by the General Synod [to consider the lay presidency issue] would be cause for it to be carefully scrutinised’. Goodhew was equally circumspect: ‘These things at this stage are only opinions.’15 The last thing Goodhew needed was a boost to the forces in favour of lay presidency just as he was preparing to offer less controversial solutions to the national crisis in Anglican vitality at the February General Synod meeting in Adelaide. Goodhew’s presentation in Adelaide focused on the results of the latest National Church Life Survey (NCLS) and its implications for the Anglican Church. Part of the argument driving the conservative evangelical push in Sydney was that the Church generally was failing to deliver the kind of clear gospel message and innovative worship services that people hungered after. Consequently Anglicanism was in trouble and only their prescriptions offered a way forward. The NCLS findings certainly seemed to support the first conclusion. For the five year period under review (1991–96) the number of Anglicans in the nation as a whole grew 8.5 per cent. That was the lowest growth rate of any denomination and compared poorly with other Protestant churches such as the Assemblies of God (37 per cent), the Salvation Army (18 per cent), and Baptists (16.8 per cent). Moreover, as the report from the Bureau of Immigration, Multicultural and Population Research had indicated two years earlier, the Anglican population was ageing. Fewer than 20 per cent of Anglicans were aged between 20 and 39 years even though 40 per cent of all Australians were in this age bracket. More than 40 per cent of 43
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Anglicans were now over 60 years of age—twice the proportion of the general population. ‘The NCLS research team has presented us with data that cannot be ignored,’ Goodhew told the General Synod. ‘They have alerted us to the fact that we are an ageing church [and] it would also appear that as far as overall numerical growth is concerned we are either static or in decline.’ This would have serious implications for church finances as more and more active Anglicans moved onto fixed incomes, he pointed out. The survey pointed to other areas of concern as well: 80 per cent of Anglican bishops and priests felt that they were either totally untrained or very poorly trained to minister in a multicultural society, 83 per cent felt they had inadequate financial management skills, 73 per cent felt poorly equipped for rural ministry, and only 50 per cent felt comfortable about working outside their immediate church community. Overall, it was a damning picture. Goodhew acknowledged that the style of worship in most Anglican churches appeared inappropriate to younger people—although, ironically, ageing congregations would be more likely to insist on retaining traditional services (a point not lost on those championing a strategy of planting congregations parallel to existing ones)—and he said questions had to be raised about the selection criteria and formation processes of church leaders.16 But rather than concede the solution to one faction—conservative evangelicals— Goodhew successfully proposed the establishment of a broad task force to study the NCLS findings. Agreement on this initiative demonstrated something else about the 1998 General Synod: a marked absence of the bitter divisions that had characterised recent meetings—especially when women’s ordination had been on the agenda—and a desire to tackle matters of wider concern to the Church and its place in Australian society. A compromise of sorts was even thrashed out—with Goodhew’s assistance—on the contentious issue of women bishops. Synod agreed to consider the possibility of women’s consecration to the episcopacy but set no specific date for doing so. It also requested that Standing Committee prepare a discussion paper on the implications of the Church consecrating women 44
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and to suggest practical ways to address such implications—and particularly what could be done for Anglicans who conscientiously opposed the move but found themselves in dioceses which approved it. General Synod’s united front on this occasion even extended to issuing a formal apology to Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders over the abuses revealed in the Stolen Generations report and to an unprecedented constitutional change that would see a representative of Aboriginal and Islander people in each of the houses of bishops, clergy and laity as a matter of right. All in all, it was one of the most successful General Synods in decades—and Goodhew could take much of the credit.
New twists on an old debate: gender and sexuality But any joy was to be short lived. Five months after the General Synod, more than 800 bishops representing the worldwide Anglican Communion were due to gather for their ten-yearly Lambeth Conference in London. The 1988 conference had been dominated by the women’s ordination issue; this year, Third World debt relief was high on the agenda (an acknowledgment, in part, that the centre of Anglicanism had shifted from the British Isles, North America, Australia and New Zealand to the Church in Africa and Asia). But questions of gender and sexuality would hijack proceedings once again. In February 1997, a meeting of almost 80 Southeast Asian bishops in Kuala Lumpur had issued a statement calling for a ‘clear and unambiguous’ teaching of the biblical understanding of human sexuality. That request was aimed at countering the liberal approach to homosexuality rapidly winning supporters within the US Episcopalian church. The Kuala Lumpur statement opposed the ordination of noncelibate homosexuals and the blessing of same-sex unions. More worrying for the unity of the worldwide Anglican Church, not only did the Standing Committee of the Province of Southeast Asia endorse the statement, it also said it would not regard itself in communion with any province that did not. 45
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This was not an isolated stand. The breakaway conservative Episcopal Synod of America had also called for the establishment of an independent ‘orthodox province of the Anglican Communion’ for those Episcopalians who found they could not live with the more liberal sections of the Church. One of the champions of the latter, Bishop Shelby Spong of Newark, New Jersey, for instance, was an outspoken advocate of blessing homosexual marriages and claimed that he already had 30 gay priests in his own diocese. The Australian General Synod meeting in Adelaide had rejected a motion to support the Kuala Lumpur statement. But ahead of the opening of the London gathering, Goodhew observed that if the conference ‘was to come out and make reasonably positive statements about [homosexuality] there’ll be very violent reactions and there’d be those who want to, as some Americans have, withdraw [from the communion] on that basis’.17 One suspected it was not just Anglicans outside Australia he had in mind. After three weeks of deliberation, a resolution on human sexuality was put before the Conference. According to the Primate of South Africa, Cape Town’s Archbishop Njongonkulu Ndungane, who chaired the conference section charged with preparing the draft of the resolution, the final position had been ‘hammered out on an anvil of pain’.18 It rejected homosexual activity as ‘incompatible with Scripture’ and said that the Church could not ‘advise the legitimising of samesex unions nor the ordination of those involved in such unions’. The gathering overwhelmingly endorsed this position (the vote was 526 in favour, with 70 against and 45 abstentions) but it was soon evident that neither gay activists nor some liberal sections of the American church considered the resolution the end of the matter. The latter were encouraged by the fact that the Anglican Communion is a voluntary association and the Lambeth meeting has no authority to impose its resolutions on the autonomous provinces that choose to join. But the Lambeth statement on homosexuality was soon coming under pressure from less likely quarters. At the opening of the Melbourne Synod in October, Archbishop Rayner proffered the remark that while the Church traditionally taught that homosexual 46
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intercourse was sinful, it also once taught that the marriage of divorced people could not be blessed. ‘May it be,’ he asked, ‘that God is calling us to review the received tradition [on homosexuality] to see whether further light is to be shed on it?’19 Sydney Synod, which met a week later, had a simple answer to that question: 400 of its members voted to ‘express [Synod’s] concern about and distance itself from’ Rayner’s remarks. ‘We want to tell the world [that Rayner] does not speak for the Sydney Diocese on the matter of homosexuality,’ explained Zac Veron, rector of St Jude’s, Carlton. ‘Will it cause embarrassment to the Primate? I think he can live with it.’20 Live with it Rayner could, but he did so with a certain degree of disappointment. ‘My call to review the tradition on homosexuality did not represent a fixed view on my part that the tradition should be changed,’ he subsequently explained: It reflected my conviction that the issue must be faced, taking into account the insights of scientific study and of human experience. It could not be swept under the carpet. But I also emphasised that any review must take full account of the biblical evidence and the long-standing mainstream Christian tradition. My emphasis on the need to satisfy biblical criteria ought to have been welcomed in Sydney. The negative reaction from some probably partly reflected the way the matter was reported in the press and partly a concern that any questioning of the received tradition of interpretation was to be deplored.
The Sydney Synod also voted—in contrast to the General Synod in February—to endorse the Kuala Lumpur statement and to join with ‘those Anglicans from developing nations in affirming its content as a correct and faithful assertion of Biblical and long-held traditional Anglican teaching on human sexuality’.21 This minor mutiny in Sydney against Rayner might have been far bigger news if it wasn’t for comments, coming seemingly out of the blue, that Goodhew made on women’s ordination during his presidential address. Acknowledging the frustrations of a ‘significant minority’ within the Diocese who felt called to priestly ministry, Goodhew said 47
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he now appreciated ‘the weight of the arguments advanced by those who hold that in a significantly changed social environment, faithfulness to God might mean that the same revealed truth needs to be expressed in a different way’. He then said that ‘if you asked me whether I would withhold my consent [if a decision to ordain women priests was made by Synod], my reply would be tentative but I would not withhold consent’. There are, he added, ‘certain hills on which one must be prepared to die [but] in my judgment, at the present time, this is not one of them’.22 Goodhew subsequently admitted that it was a ‘fairly confused’ statement on his part. The reaction seemed to confirm this even at the time. Patricia Hayward, of MOW, described the Archbishop’s statement as a ‘watershed in the Diocese’. Patricia Judge, convenor of Equal But Different—a conservative anti-women’s ordination lobby which drew strong support among the wives of clergy, disagreed. ‘People can read too much into what the Archbishop said,’ she commented. ‘Synod has consistently voted against the ordination of women and I can’t really see why it would change its mind.’23 In practical terms, Goodhew had taken a small step: removing the quaint constitutional obstacle to women’s ordination afforded by his right as Archbishop of Sydney to veto enabling legislation. But symbolically, it was enormously significant: here was an Archbishop who had long opposed women’s ordination publicly announcing a ‘road to Damascus’ conversion. Here also was the leader of a Diocese whose clergy were staunchly opposed to women priests declaring his hand irrespective of their sentiments. At the very least, Goodhew’s remarks meant that it was perfectly appropriate to discuss women’s ordination again—and to leave open the possibility that even Sydney might one day change its mind. Moore College Principal Peter Jensen—a leading opponent of women’s ordination—appeared sanguine about Goodhew’s change of stance. What he ‘seemed to me to be saying’, he told the Sydney Morning Herald, ‘[was] that he wanted us to spend more time thinking this issue through in the next few years’.24 But not all of those 48
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around Jensen were quite as openly relaxed about this sudden turn of events. To some conservative evangelicals, Goodhew was never quite sound and now he simply couldn’t be trusted. According to Robert Forsyth, Goodhew’s statement was the final provocation for conservative evangelicals: ‘That was a declaration of war between him and Phillip [Jensen] and others like [Phillip].’ Within days of Goodhew’s address, names were being floated about of the possible contenders to succeed him—although his retirement was more than two years away—most of which were on the conservative side of the Diocesan divide.
Going for broke Supporters of women’s ordination were generally encouraged by Goodhew’s remarks. ‘The middle ground of the Sydney Synod has opposed women priests for 20 years not because of its fear of women’s authority so much as its fear of the clergy/theologians who lead the opposition,’ commented the founding president of MOW , Dr Patricia Brennan. ‘Harry Goodhew is the first Archbishop of Sydney in more than 30 years to at least signal to the middle ground of his Synod to move against that fear.’25 For all practical purposes, if this was going to happen it would be at the 1999 Synod—the last but one before Goodhew was due to retire. Encouraged by that prospect, the pro-women’s ordination camp began searching for an arrangement that just might carry the day. In July, Justice Ken Handley of the NSW Court of Appeal, and also the legal adviser to the Diocese, made a submission to Standing Committee that a bill he had drafted on the matter be put to the October Synod meeting. Under Handley’s proposal, women would be ordained priests but barred from being rectors (that is, heads) of parishes. ‘It wasn’t intended as a compromise,’ Handley says, although he concedes it had the potential to form one. ‘My view is and was that Sydney has got itself into a corner here in that it is prepared to let lay women and women deacons preside at Holy Communion [a logical 49
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consequence of the push for lay presidency] but it is not willing to [ordain] them so that they can preside as priests at Holy Communion.’ This position, he says, actually reflected an AngloCatholic view of priesthood. ‘In the end, when the point was exposed that they were defending the Anglo-Catholic position on priestly presidency the defence switched to the ordinal in the Book of Common Prayer which proceeds on the basis that the person being ordained is going to be in charge of a parish.’This too, says Handley, is a wrong-headed position. ‘The theological objection to [ordaining] women is really the headship doctrine—there should be a man in charge—and that can be honoured by barring them from being rectors. Women priests [ordained] in Sydney could then be like 50 per cent of the men who are ordained in Sydney who will never be in charge of a parish but so what? The ordinal for the consecration of a bishop in the Book of Common Prayer proceeds on the basis that the bishop will be in sole charge of a diocese but most Sydney bishops will never be in sole charge of a diocese.’ Not all MOW members felt comfortable with the proposed arrangement. Writing in the Sydney Morning Herald, Julia Baird, a synod member and MOW activist, explained that Handley’s proposal would leave MOW members in a difficult situation because of the built-in restriction on women who would be ordained: ‘Some will refuse to support anything less than what they ask for [priesthood without qualification], for fear it may permanently entrench discrimination in the guise of male headship.’26 As it was, the bill was not even debated at the Synod. Despite the fact that the house of laity was almost equally divided on a resolution to allow women’s ordination only three years earlier, a move to debate Handley’s compromise proposal was narrowly defeated. It was, in other words, killed off on procedural grounds. Supporters of the bill blamed its opponents’ ‘mastery of Synod procedures and standing orders to stymie discussion’.27 The conservative forces also chalked up a number of other significant victories. They managed to pass a resolution introduced by Phillip Jensen to push ahead with a proposed ordinance to allow the establishment of parishes without 50
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the requirement that they own property. This change was supported by a number of ministers to ethnic communities, who argued that the existing parish model hindered their work and left them unfairly represented in diocesan decision making. But its real significance lay in the fact that the move to establish congregations as parishes represented a break with past traditions of the Church by greatly assisting the planting of ‘local churches’ within established parish boundaries in Sydney. Synod also voted to distance the Diocese from Anglican theologians exploring the possibilities for reconciliation with the Roman Catholic Church. Earlier in the year, the Anglican–Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC)—a body set up after the historic meeting between the Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, and Pope Paul VI in the late 1960s to examine how disputes between the two churches might be resolved—issued a report in which it was argued that the Pope’s authority on matters of doctrine could be viewed as a ‘gift of authority’ for Anglicans as much as Catholics. Moreover, the report suggested this could be so even before the two churches were in full communion. It was a controversial finding, to say the least. Still, Sydney wasted no time or intellectual investment in offering its response. Synod requested that Goodhew inform the commission that it did not speak for his Diocese (a general rejection of the ARCIC initiative) and that Sydney affirmed the view that scripture alone—and not scripture together with church tradition—was the final authority on matters of Christian faith and conduct (rejecting the specific finding on authority). More than anything, however, the mood of the 1999 Synod was shown in its decision on a bill to introduce lay presidency for a trial period of five years (the motion to approve the bill was introduced by the Rev. John Woodhouse). In his presidential address at the opening of the Synod, Goodhew urged members to ‘think seriously before launching into unilateral action’ on the matter. ‘It would certainly not be difficult,’ he said, ‘for this Diocese to cut itself loose from its ties with the province and communion and go its own way.’28 As if to emphasise the point, Archbishop Rayner told ABC Radio’s Religion 51
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Report ahead of the vote that passage of the bill would be ‘quite disastrous’. Lay presidency, the Primate said, had more power to divide the Church than even women’s ordination because the latter innovation, though controversial, is still a matter ‘which accepted the understanding there has been in the whole of catholic Christianity from the beginning to the present day, of a certain distinctive place made by ordination for those who are ordained’.29 But these arguments fell on deaf ears. By a vote of 122–66 among the clergy, and 224–128 among lay members, Synod voted to approve the bill in a secret ballot on the night of October 19. This result left Goodhew with a month to decide whether or not he would assent to the legislation. On the one hand, he had to contend with the strength of support for the trial in his own Diocese; on the other, with the vehemence of the reaction from Anglicans outside Sydney if it went ahead. In a meeting with Anglican clergy in London, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr George Carey, warned that Sydney’s move to end the centuries-old tradition that only bishops and priests could preside at Holy Communion would cause untold harm to Anglican unity.30 Rayner again weighed into the debate, arguing that Sydney was on the brink of establishing a new church.31 Beyond making public comments, however, the Primate chose not to interfere. ‘I brought no pressure to bear on Archbishop Goodhew directly on the matter of lay presidency [believing] that he would not readily give in to pressure in that direction from within his own Diocese,’ Rayner explained. ‘Besides, any attempt at direct pressure from outside might be counter-productive. This battle had to be fought out within the framework of Sydney evangelicalism.’ But Brisbane’s Archbishop Peter Hollingworth claimed there was ‘no real capacity in Sydney’ to argue lay presidency theologically in Synod. Lay presidency would dismantle holy orders, Hollingworth maintained, after which ‘I don’t know what you have left [of Anglicanism]’.32 Stephen Pickard, director of St Mark’s National Theological Centre, agreed. ‘In the Anglican understanding of church,’ he told the Canberra Times, ‘it was necessary to have people as representatives of God particularly at the celebration of Holy Communion—the central act of 52
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Christian thanksgiving.’ Sydney, Pickard suggested, would eventually break down the very structure it claimed to defend.33 Supporters of the move in Sydney were not convinced. ‘I don’t see [lay presidency] as radical as some might,’ Woodhouse told Religion Report the day after the vote. ‘I think it takes us back to where we began at the Reformation time, the real discovery of the Bible, that there are no Christian priests in the sense of . . . persons with a special status or special power, or in some sense above the lay people.’34 The president of the ACL, Bruce Ballantine-Jones, whose members generally supported the introduction of lay presidency, emphasised the politics of the situation. ‘Lay presidency is inevitable in Sydney,’ he said. Moreover, given the strong support for the move, Ballantine-Jones opined that it would be impossible ‘for there to be a successful candidate [to replace Goodhew as Archbishop] who did not support the bill’.35 Goodhew agreed with this assessment but it only added to his anguish over a decision. ‘Do you say “It’s going to happen in any case, take the heat for somebody else” or do you say “Well, if a certain thing is right I’ll stand for it and it’s somebody else’s responsibility when they come along”?’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald. But to anyone who remembered his comments on liturgical reform in 1993, or the arguments he unsuccessfully advanced in favour of Sydney adopting the new Prayer Book in 1996, he also gave a clear indication of what that decision would be. Although he was surprised by the strength of support for lay presidency, he said it didn’t alter ‘the responsibility I have to the wider church in Australia and the wider church around the world, and it doesn’t change the fact from my point of view that [introducing lay presidency] will have an impact on the credibility of our Diocese when it participates in other things’.36 Nor surprisingly, Goodhew announced three weeks later that he would defy Synod and exercise his veto to block the lay presidency trial. He was ‘bound’ to uphold the Constitution of the Anglican Church of Australia, he explained, and was fearful of the consequences of unilateral action for the unity of the Church. The reaction outside Sydney was one of cautious relief. Archbishop Goodhew’s decision was the ‘responsible’ one, said the Primate, adding that there ‘were times when 53
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a bishop must resist popular pressures for the sake of the integrity of the Church’. But proponents of lay presidency were quick to claim that this was not the end of the matter. ‘If I understand the Archbishop,’ Woodhouse responded, ‘for him it is a matter of timing and procedure, not a matter of principle.’ Again, Ballantine-Jones simply argued that lay presidency would ‘happen eventually anyway’. Again, Goodhew conceded the likely truth of this. ‘Given the voting patterns of the Synod, it would be hard to think that they would vote for a successor who didn’t support lay presidency,’ he said.37 In hindsight he was more specific about who was calling the shots: ‘Part of the dynamics for ACL was to ensure that when the next election came there would be someone who would be a little firmer at the edges, as they say.’ The crisis in Anglican ranks had been postponed but not averted. One week later, Keith Rayner retired as Archbishop of Melbourne and Primate of the national Church. But he did so with a passing shot at what was fast becoming the dominant culture of Anglicanism in Sydney: It seems to me there has been a genuine stream of Anglican evangelicalism which has been represented by a succession of archbishops [of Sydney]—Mowll, Loane, Robinson, Goodhew—which is being challenged by a kind of evangelicalism that is of a variety that has not been part of the Anglican way of understanding the church. So I treasure the contribution of evangelicalism to the Anglican Church but I am concerned that ways of presenting the evangelical approach [in Sydney] have moved away from that genuine Anglican evangelical tradition. To take the question of lay presidency: this is not a new issue— it was there at the time of the Reformation—there were some churches that began at that time that went along that path. That is the path that the Anglican church deliberately did not choose to go. And I notice that those churches that took that path have not played a major contribution in the overall picture of Christian history since then and I would not want to see the Anglican Church of Australia move along the lines that would separate it from the mainstream Christian tradition.38 54
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As if that broadside—which essentially accused Sydney Anglicans of wanting to become Protestants pure and simple—was not enough, Rayner had one even more biting comment to add: ‘I don’t believe the kingdom of God is a political program to be ushered in by political methods.’ This statement, he later explained, reflected a continuing theme in his thinking. ‘In Melbourne, for example, I publicly deplored party tickets in Melbourne Synod elections. I had the same view of the political methods of the Anglican Church League and REPA in Sydney. It is my conviction that this kind of politicking puts human manipulation in place of trusting in the guidance of the Holy Spirit in the life and decision-making of the Church.’ Some of the actions of the Standing Committee elected in 1999 seemed to prove the point. Earlier that year a meeting was held at the Tattersal’s Club between representatives of the Blue Ticket (including Stephen Judd and Warwick Olsen) and the ACL (represented by Bruce Ballantine-Jones, Robert Tong and John Woodhouse). ‘We agreed to a truce,’ recalls Stephen Judd, in which a set of names were agreed upon which the ACL would put up as their ticket. By and large the result was a Standing Committee of much the same complexion as that of 1996 with two notable differences: the addition of Bruce Ballantine-Jones and the omission of Stuart Piggin. The latter became ineligible for election when he lost his seat on Synod. Piggin had not been a parish representative but had been elected to Synod by the Standing Committee. In 1999, however, it voted him off. ‘[The ACL] rolled him in a well-orchestrated display of caucusing of the Standing Committee,’ comments Judd. ‘It was a miserable act of thuggery: the notion that Stuart did not contribute to Synod debates and had not demonstrated a contribution to the richness of Synod [the argument put up against his re-election] was laughable. It was the best example of how the ACL could not tolerate people who disagreed with them or challenged them or would not bend the knee to them.’ The new Standing Committee also further reduced Goodhew’s power by approving a motion moved by Ballantine-Jones that it appoint the entire Diocesan Executive Board except for the Archbishop and the CEO of the Secretariat. (In a compromise of sorts the 55
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board was also expanded to include all the bishops as automatic members.) Goodhew showed his displeasure at this grab for power, says Ballantine-Jones, by cancelling the Archbishop’s traditional Christmas dinner with the members of the Standing Committee. If this was the kind of politicking Rayner had in mind when he criticised some Sydney Anglicans, however, the Diocese was about to embrace it like never before.
The Carnley controversy When Keith Rayner was elected Primate of the Anglican Church of Australia in 1991, there was only one ballot and the proceedings were wrapped up in less than an hour. Primates are chosen by an electoral college consisting of the diocesan bishops, plus twelve lay and twelve clergy representatives elected by the General Synod. The Primate’s job is a part-time one that carries no power to dictate to the various dioceses around the country. It is essentially a leadership—as distinct from a managerial—role. Rayner was a moderate of Anglo-Catholic persuasions. He led by working hard at keeping at least a minimal consensus among his fellow bishops—something that had earned him the moderately disparaging nickname ‘Cautious Keith’ in Sydney church circles. But this approach suited his personality and was also appropriate during a critical period when the Church was bitterly divided over the issue of women’s ordination. The election of Rayner’s successor, which was held in early February 2000, could hardly have been different to his election almost ten years earlier. Nor could the result have been more potentially explosive. For a start, the election itself went to four ballots over a period of three hours. In the first and second ballots, Sydney’s Archbishop Harry Goodhew received more votes than any of the other candidates but only because the votes were spread. In the third ballot, Perth’s Archbishop Peter Carnley pulled ahead, but not by a wide enough margin to secure election. When the early media favourite for the primacy, Brisbane’s Archbishop Peter Hollingworth, dropped out of 56
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contention (he had received not one clergy vote throughout the balloting), a fourth and final ballot was held. This time Carnley defeated Goodhew by 24 votes to 17. Hollingworth, a liberal Anglo-Catholic, would later cry foul, claiming that he was ‘done in by a coalition of evangelicals and Anglo-Catholics’—a claim Deaconess Margaret Rodgers, head of Anglican Media in Sydney and one of only six women in the electoral college, strenuously denied.39 But not even Hollingworth’s accusation of back-stabbing in high places grabbed as much attention as the tone set by Carnley in his first interviews following the win. Within a day of his election, Carnley was urging the Prime Minister to apologise to the nation’s indigenous population over the Stolen Generations report and commenting on the likely need for a more extensive trial of the safe heroin-injecting room recently given the go-ahead by the NSW Government. These comments suggested that Carnley was likely to use his new pulpit to be outspoken on social and political issues. More to the point, he seemed more prone to interfering in the affairs of other dioceses than had his predecessors. Carnley raised the possibility of the ordination of women bishops. He remarked, in tones that suggested the need for new thinking, on the challenge posed to the Church by issues of human sexuality. He said he couldn’t see himself supporting lay presidency and also offered advice to the Diocese of Sydney about not isolating itself from Anglicans generally.40 From someone who was already held in disdain by conservative evangelicals—both over his unilateral action in ordaining the first women priests in Australia in 1992 and for what many regarded as his heretical views on the resurrection of Jesus (that a simplistic understanding of the physical resurrection was questionable as historical fact)—these were not the sort of comments likely to recommend the new Primate to powerful forces within Sydney. Instead, Carnley and his views were about to provide timely additional ammunition in the struggle for control of the Diocese. In the lead-up to Easter, and only days before his installation, the Bulletin invited the new Primate-elect to write an article expressing his theological views to a general audience. Carnley obliged with a piece 57
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that, while thoughtful, was bound to provoke strong reactions. He again raised a challenge over whether the resurrection of Jesus must be viewed as something more, not less, than the resuscitation of a corpse. ‘The resurrection is not just another nature miracle that demonstrates what God can do with matter: it is not just a “conjuring trick with bones”,’ he argued. ‘Rather, Jesus re-appears as the bearer of salvation in the concrete form of acceptance and forgiveness, even for those who had wronged him.’ He went on to question whether salvation was found exclusively (as distinct from uniquely) in Christ. ‘St Luke wrote that there is salvation in no-one else, save Jesus Christ alone . . . [But] if he had a vague idea about the existence of India at the fringes of the world, he probably had no idea of the existence of China at all, let alone of the teachings of the Buddha or Confucius. Mohammed was, of course, yet unborn. The modern question of “other religions” was for Luke miles away, centuries off.’41 Carnley’s first point had been made by other Anglican hierarchs and scholars before him, although not without controversy. And while his second point might have appeared to contradict the historic statement of Anglican faith set down in the Thirty-Nine Articles (Article XVIII of which reads, in part: ‘For Holy Scripture doth set out unto us only the Name of Jesus Christ, whereby men must be saved’), it was at least consistent with broad developments in theology (not least in the Catholic Church, from which Anglicans claim their roots). But Carnley’s approach to theology was inseparable from his ecclesiology and moral teaching. If tradition is held to be open to interpretation on such core issues as the Resurrection, the same must logically apply to non-core issues such as priestly ordination and sexuality. On various levels then, the Bulletin article was a red rag, particularly to the evangelical bulls of Sydney. Not surprisingly, the reaction was immediate and fierce. Two Sydney clerics, Robert Forsyth of St Barnabas, Broadway and John Woodhouse of Christ Church, St Ives, immediately declared their intention not to attend Carnley’s installation at St Andrew’s Cathedral (chosen as a site before the primatial election to coincide with a meeting of the Anglican Bishops’ Conference and the Standing Committee of General Synod). ‘We want our Primate to be calling us 58
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to the central things in our Christian faith, not be out there undermining and confusing people,’ explained Forsyth.42 The following day the Rev. Deryck Howell, assistant minister of St Matthias, Centennial Park, circulated a letter asking clergy to petition the Bishop of South Sydney, Peter Watson, to boycott Carnley’s installation. ‘This man [Carnley],’ the letter read in part, ‘is neither a shepherd of God’s people, nor a defender of the faith.’ Other clerics declared their hand by threatening to boycott not only Carnley’s installation but all meetings he would subsequently chair as Primate, and raising the prospect of planting churches aligned with Sydney Anglican theology in his own Diocese of Perth.43 Under pressure to make a statement as Archbishop of Sydney, Goodhew released a response to Carnley’s Bulletin article on his Diocesan media website. In measured language Goodhew wrote that he took ‘no pleasure in publicly stating my disagreement but I consider that Peter’s treatment of the material from the New Testament book of the Acts of the Apostles is unhelpful and misleading’ and ‘could be construed’ as contradicting the Thirty-Nine Articles and the Book of Common Prayer.44 The article was sent to Carnley before it appeared on the website but the new Primate claimed he never received a copy and was angered by its circulation. The same day that Goodhew’s response was made public, the Archbishop wrote to clergy in Sydney rejecting calls that he boycott Carnley’s installation. The new Primate, Goodhew pointed out, was ‘duly and properly elected’. If the Archbishop of Sydney were to boycott the installation service, then ‘consistency would dictate’ that he similarly boycott all meetings Carnley was to chair as Primate (including General Synod, its Standing Committee, and the Bishops’ Conference). This, Goodhew noted, ‘would be tantamount to severing Episcopal relationships with the Australian Church [and] that is not something I wish to do at this time’. Lastly, Goodhew argued that in any event ‘one salutes the uniform not necessarily the wearer’.45 These were not arguments likely to mollify Carnley’s critics. Those critics included two, if not three, of Goodhew’s five regional bishops. Bishops Paul Barnett of North Sydney and Reg Piper of Wollongong chose to boycott the installation. Bishop Brian King 59
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of Parramatta stayed away, citing a prior engagement. Only Bishop Peter Watson of South Sydney, recently made Archbishop-elect of Melbourne, attended the St Andrew’s service. (Bishop Ray Smith of Liverpool was on leave at the time.) In his own account of the circumstances surrounding his installation, Peter Carnley seems to imply that there was a degree of showmanship among Sydney bishops on the issue of their attendance or non-attendance: two (who were unnamed) had told him ‘long before’ the publication of his Bulletin article that they ‘unfortunately’ had other commitments on the day, another had written ‘months earlier’ that he would be absent overseas, and Reg Piper ‘had actually tried to explain his reasons [for not attending] in a written statement’.46 The strongest dissent to the new Primate, however, was heard from conservative evangelical clergy. Phillip Jensen called Carnley’s Easter article ‘seriously flawed historically, biblically, theologically, ecclesiastically and evangelically’ and called on Christians to begin ‘the long fight’ to preserve the faith.47 ACL president Bruce Ballantine-Jones claimed that Carnley was driving people away from Anglicanism with his ‘liberal Catholic’ views and predicted that a consequence of his election as Primate would be to ‘force those who hold [orthodox] beliefs very strongly to question the use of being part of a church like that’.48 Petitions reaffirming fundamental Christian values were circulated to 200 Sydney congregations and signed by thousands of parishioners, according to the Rev. John Woodhouse.49 Outside the Cathedral during the service a small number of protesters carried banners that read ‘He’s a witch’ and ‘Carnley repent of heresy’.50 According to Ballantine-Jones, there were even serious suggestions raised about a protest inside the Cathedral itself but he, along with others, considered any interruption to the installation inappropriate and knocked the idea firmly on the head. Carnley had accused his critics in Sydney of misrepresenting him and ‘firing rockets’ indiscriminately. ‘They are trying to suggest their way of thinking is the only way of thinking,’ he told The Australian, ‘when in fact there is a huge diversity of views within the Church.’51 There was an element of truth in this, as anyone familiar with the arguments 60
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between the Diocese of Sydney and most of the rest of the Anglican Church on issues such as women’s ordination, lay presidency and the new Prayer Book knew. There was also an element of truth in the argument that Carnley’s views were offensive to many Anglicans— inside and outside Sydney. ‘We felt he was really saying Christ isn’t really unique and here he was, the new Primate, the new head of the church, making what we thought was a sell-out on an absolutely fundamental point,’ explains Robert Forsyth. Still, Carnley’s views on the Resurrection were well known—he had set them forth in The Structure of Resurrection Belief, a book published in 1987 and reprinted six years later—and had been elected in spite of them. This suggested that a part at least of the wrath of some of Carnley’s most vocal critics was tied up with other issues. According to the Rev. John Cornish of Anglicans Together, one of these was political posturing ahead of the 2001 archbishop’s election: ‘They didn’t want [Carnley] to be Primate and so they have to be seen to be being different from him. They were establishing their credentials about being truly Anglican in their view, their sense of orthodoxy.’ Robert Forsyth disagrees. ‘It was the Diocese of Sydney pulling together on a common threat,’ he says. But in hindsight, Forsyth also suggests that the way the controversy was handled was politically dumb. The reason, he says, is ‘because we ended up making [Carnley] famous. There was a small fire, we stomped on it and ended up spreading it about.’
Goodhew’s agonising exit The conflagration over Carnley’s installation was just one of the factors that would make the last twelve months of Goodhew’s term in office the toughest of his eight years as Archbishop—and the most decisive in revealing the direction of the Sydney Diocese. Goodhew’s own diminished standing among the powerbrokers of the Diocese was another factor and it would lead to increasing bitterness on all sides. ‘He frittered away the goodwill [that existed] 61
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when he got elected,’ says Ballantine-Jones. ‘By the end we were all just going through the motions, all polite and courteous, but I think he probably knew his number was up.’ Tong offers his own reasons for this development: ‘Goodwill was there at the beginning. But because he failed to include some of the hardcore conservatives by way of consultation and letting it be known that some of them were on board or even appointing one or two of them to positions that became available, the Standing Committee and the Synod lost confidence in his leadership.’Tong also believes that Goodhew’s style in dealing with the Standing Committee was symptomatic of the weakness of his leadership overall. ‘Harry was a noninterventionist chairman,’ he says. ‘For Harry’s last couple of years we never finished the agenda: there would always be matters hanging over until the next meeting and there would be some matters that would hang over for six months or so which is unsatisfactory if you’ve put the agenda item on. In the end I think this is indicative of non-directive chairmanship—for whatever reason. I think his leadership was like that.’ The same month Carnley was elected Primate, Bishop Peter Watson of South Sydney had been elected to replace Keith Rayner as Archbishop of Melbourne. Watson had been a bishop in Sydney since 1989 but only after his move out of the Diocese was confirmed did he choose to reveal his support for the ordination of women as priests and their consecration as bishops. Watson attributed his decision to keep his views on the role of women private to a desire not to break ranks with his fellow Sydney Anglicans and loyalty to his superiors.52 How much the fear of reprisals, or dashed ambition, if Watson’s sympathies had been known earlier also played a part in his silence was left to others to guess. Watson’s departure gave Goodhew an opportunity to position a preferred successor as assistant bishop for South Sydney. ‘People came to me and said you need to provide us with better alternatives than are available,’ he recalls. He considered Archdeacon Trevor Edwards but finally decided on Canon Robert Forsyth, rector of St Barnabas, Broadway, as someone who stood a better chance of being elected. 62
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Forsyth had served at St Barnabas since 1983 and was chaplain to the University of Sydney. A founding member of REPA, he—or they—had since parted company on a number of issues, one of which was lay presidency. Though Forsyth did not oppose lay presidency in principle, he agreed with Goodhew that there was no urgent need to rush to introduce the practice simply to make a theological point. Forsyth’s early decision to boycott Carnley’s installation was continuing evidence of his conservative evangelicalism but he nonetheless made no secret of the fact that he also valued the wider Church and its traditions. As well, he was clearly a man with his own ideas, and he had a high media profile with which to propagate them. On all these counts he represented something of a threat to the ‘club’ that had developed around the other founding members of the REPA. Procedure requires that assistant bishops are nominated by the Archbishop; their appointment is usually then rubber-stamped by a twothirds majority of both lay members and clergy members on Standing Committee. When the committee met on Monday, 3 April, its lay members voted 20–4 for a motion agreeing in principle to Goodhew’s proposal to appoint a replacement for Watson but the clergy vote was only 10–7 in favour. With 27 representatives of the clergy on the committee (including the Archbishop, who does not vote on these matters), a majority of 18 is normally required to carry the motion. If, however, the five archdeacon representatives (who by this time had no power to vote) are excluded—and some interpret the relevant ordinance in this way—a two-thirds majority could be achieved with 15 votes. This made the number of absentees and ‘no’ votes critical to the result. Some clergy had argued that it was inappropriate for Goodhew to make an appointment given that he would be replaced by a new archbishop in a little over twelve months.53 But appointments under such circumstances are not unprecedented, and it is as likely that the failure to achieve the required majority among the clergy was motivated by a desire, on the part of some of them at least, to deny pole position in the 2001 archbishop’s election to anyone seen as too close to Goodhew’s views. In any event, Goodhew convened a special meeting of the entire Synod in May to resolve the issue. In calling the meeting, he addressed 63
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squarely the notion that this would be a ‘political’ appointment, saying ‘any name I propose would be “political” insofar as it will bring a person to people’s attention’ but also observing that ‘opinion seems to vary as to whether or not my appointee would be helped or hindered by coming to this position at this time’. Goodhew insisted that he could not leave a region like South Sydney without the leadership of a bishop. He also noted that he had received a request from the regional council that he make an appointment. Finally, he added, in scarcely disguised frustration, that as Archbishop he expected ‘that Synod members will respect my prerogative to nominate the person for the position’.54 Effectively he was calling the bluff from certain quarters to his leadership and it paid off, in the sense at least that Forsyth was ‘elected’ Bishop of South Sydney two days later. Those against the appointment, however, were sanguine about the outcome. ‘We couldn’t [ultimately] oppose Robert’s nomination because if there was a hostile backlash to us, that would prejudice our man in the big race eighteen months later,’ explains Ballantine-Jones. ‘So we were always thinking strategically. Why fight a battle you obviously can’t win and prejudice the battle you’ve got to win?’ Barely had the rancour from the Watson–Forsyth saga calmed down when the issue of church planting across diocesan boundaries flared tempers of a different kind. A number of senior Sydney clergy, including Standing Committee members the Rev. Glenn Davies of St Luke’s, Miranda and the Rev. Bruce Hall of St Paul’s, Carlingford, criticised as ‘misleading’ and ‘untrue’ an ABC Four Corners program on 19 June reporting the anger of some bishops over the alleged support given to unauthorised church plants in their dioceses by sections of the Diocese of Sydney. ‘The whole debate seems misinformed,’ said Davies. ‘These church plants have no authority from the Diocese, no imprimatur from the Diocese, no funding from the Diocese.’ Hall concurred. ‘Nothing had been done,’ he said, about a report to Sydney Synod suggesting the Archbishop allocate funds to Moore College for ‘training church planters’—although he added that it would be a worthwhile initiative for Synod to consider—and the idea that church planting would affect the numbers in established churches was anyway 64
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a ‘lie’. A representative of Moore College also said the allegations that the training centre was behind church plants was ‘patently untrue’.55 These rebuffs were correct precisely because the way the planting strategy had been designed was to specifically circumvent diocesan structures and lines of accountability. Moreover while Moore College was not behind the plants, in the case of a church plant in Orange the technically separate, back-door non-diocesan clergy Ministry Training Scheme (operating out of St Matthias) certainly was involved. Despite the denials by those at the top, Bishop Philip Huggins of Grafton was subsequently moved to write an open letter to the Sydney Diocese, claiming some of its leaders ‘are resolved to deconstruct the Anglican Church as it is presently constituted’. Church planting, he pointed out, contravened a resolution passed at the 1998 Lambeth Conference reaffirming the integrity of diocesan boundaries and was clearly ‘not part of the Anglican consensus’. Huggins also accused some Sydney Anglicans of trying to ‘sabotage the Church’ through the push for the introduction of lay presidency. He said the Diocesan welfare agency Anglicare NSW was advertising across the state with the effect of weakening both the identity and the finances of local Anglicare offices. Sydney clergy were also speaking at conferences and meetings outside their diocese without requesting permission from the local bishop or even offering him or his clergy a courtesy note in advance. ‘This kind of behaviour is rude and ill-mannered,’ Huggins concluded, and contributes to the perception that elements within Sydney are ‘arrogant’ in pursuit of their own agenda.56 Brisbane’s Archbishop Peter Hollingworth appeared to agree wholeheartedly with that assessment: in July he asked his diocese to pray for the Diocese of Sydney that it may ‘overcome movements within it which could tend to cause schism within the national Church’.57 Schism on another issue was already threatening the wider Anglican Communion. In January two archbishops, Emmanuel Kolini of Rwanda and Moses Tay of Southeast Asia, took it upon themselves to consecrate in Singapore two American priests as bishops to minister to Episcopalians affronted by the willingness of some US bishops to take a soft line on homosexuality. The consecrations drew 65
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criticism from, among others, the presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, Frank Griswold, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr George Carey. Both men described the Singapore consecrations as ‘irregular’ and a threat to Church authority and tradition. ‘Bishops are not intercontinental ballistic missiles, manufactured on one continent and fired into another as an act of aggression,’ commented the Canadian Primate, Archbishop Michael Peers. Even Goodhew, who in February took the unprecedented step of accepting an invitation from the Catholic Archbishop of Sydney, Cardinal Edward Clancy, to join forces in condemning Sydney’s annual Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras as an ‘exercise in gross exhibitionism’, also expressed his concern at the implications of the Singapore consecrations for Church unity.58 In August, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church of the United States of America (ECUSA) passed a resolution affirming a legitimate place in the Church for people in non-marital sexual relationships. Ahead of a meeting in Nassau of conservative archbishops and bishops from around the Communion, Goodhew issued a press release in which he accused ECUSA of having ‘crossed the line in the defining of acceptable sexual relationships in the Christian Church’. He called for the creation of a body within the United States more readily recognisable with accepted Anglican teachings. ‘My hope is that we would be able to form the broadest coalition possible with orthodox Episcopalians within the US and with Primates world-wide that would ensure either some appropriate arrangement with ECUSA for orthodox people to exercise their life and ministry, or for some alternative arrangement that has the full recognition of the Primate and the Archbishop of Canterbury.’59 There was still a concern in Goodhew’s approach for Church unity but the issue of ‘orthodoxy’ now loomed larger in his public pronouncements. It loomed larger still in the minds of the more conservative members of the Diocese. During the opening session of the October 2000 Sydney Synod, a petition was tabled signed by 8000 Sydney parishioners calling on the Anglican Communion’s 37 Primates to affirm the fundamental teachings of the Anglican faith—including the uniqueness of Jesus, his bodily resurrection, the sufficiency and authority of the Bible, and the 66
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rejection of homosexual practices and heterosexual immorality.60 The extent to which such a comprehensive petition ‘supported’ Goodhew’s suggestions concerning one specific controversy within the Episcopalian Church—as proponents of the petition liked to portray it—and the extent to which this was a general gripe at ‘liberal’ Anglicans, including the new Australian Primate, is debatable. But in a later session, the Rev. Glenn Davies successfully moved a motion whose wording was almost identical to that in the petition. Among those who opposed the motion was Michael Horsburgh, who said that while it appeared to simply affirm what all right-minded Christians believe, the motion in fact represented a progressive narrowing of what was thought to constitute orthodox Anglicanism.61 Goodhew appeared to express a similar concern during his presidential address to the Synod. ‘I believe I have heard three descriptions used of us: arrogant, polarising and aggressive,’ he said. While acknowledging that there were occasions when fidelity to the faith demanded those traits, Goodhew suggested that perhaps the labels were ‘saying more about us than that’. Earlier in his address he had alluded to what that something might be, while referring to the way bitter differences between evangelicals and Anglo-Catholics were expressing themselves in diocesan boards and councils: One begins to hear accusations and counter-accusations on the theme of love versus truth. Some are thought to abandon love in the desire to maintain truth. Others are said to compromise truth because of the propensity to give love a pre-eminent role in their thinking. Some resent being labelled by others as ‘liberals’ because they hold views that differ on issues they judge to be neither credal nor morally destructive. Negative reactions are generated in people who resent what they interpret as an over-zealous desire for control and regulation, and the use of fear as a motivator to establish that control.62
It was Goodhew’s sharpest comment to date on the culture of Sydney Anglicanism and it reflected, in the opinion of Michael Horsburgh, the fact that he ‘was desperately worried about what might happen [in the Diocese of Sydney]’ after his retirement. But if it was meant 67
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to soften the hearts of his audience, Goodhew’s comment made no apparent impact whatsoever. Among the decisions taken by the October Synod was one, introduced by Peter Jensen, to prepare a report on the theological and pastoral implications of the consecration of women bishops elsewhere in the Australian Church. The report was clearly designed not to join the debate over the desirability of the move, but to investigate ways of providing ministry to Anglicans beyond Sydney who rejected it—and so, more subtly perhaps, to signal the older Jensen brother’s candidature at the next archbishop’s election and contrast his vision with that of the incumbent. Peter Jensen made the alternative ministry option the clear priority in speaking for the motion commissioning the report. In the 1990s, he said, ‘there emerged two major threats to our unity; indeed, not threats—actual breaches of the fabric’. One of these he identified as the new Prayer Book; the other the ordination of women to the priesthood. If the rest of the Church pushed ahead with women bishops, one option to explore was to provide for dissenting parishes in one diocese to belong to another. Another option was to provide ‘flying bishops’ to those who were disaffiliated by having a woman bishop. ‘Frankly, we are going to be in further difficulty as a national church if [women bishops are allowed]; certainly we will see a still looser federation of historically connected dioceses chafing under a restrictive constitution,’ he concluded.63 Synod accepted his call to arms. It also voted to approve an ordinance moved by Phillip Jensen to free up the planting of new churches across parish boundaries. This ordinance allowed a wide range of Christian meetings—from ethnic congregations to independent church plants—to apply to become officially recognised Anglican churches in the Diocese of Sydney. An amendment to the original ordinance required a mandatory consultation process with the parish and regional council before a new congregation could be planted inside existing parish boundaries— even though by now churches had already been planted outside the diocese (on the Central Coast and in Brisbane, Orange, Bathurst and Canberra) with little or no consultation involved.64 This ordinance, 68
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and the strategy behind it, demonstrated the theological arrogance of the hardline conservatives. Not only did they believe that other dioceses didn’t preach the right gospel; to their mind moderate Anglicans in the Sydney Diocese didn’t either. Synod’s decision gave official approval as well as moral sanction to what was already happening in the eastern suburbs, where St Matthias enthusiasts had set up ‘fellowship’ and ‘discussion’ groups. Apart from making sure that all of Sydney has access to the ‘right’ approach, the long-term impact of this strategy will be to swing the power base of the Diocese toward the mega-parishes and their plants as these new congregations qualify to elect Synod representatives. The measure also meant that St Matthias, through its Ministry Training Scheme, would control the leadership of these congregations rather than the diocesan clergy selection system. In time, this would entrench a particular culture throughout the Sydney Diocese. Reluctantly, Goodhew assented to the ordinance the following month, having concluded that while it might test existing structures, no ‘significant’ principle of Christian faith or Anglicanism was being challenged by the innovation.65 In many ways, this outcome highlighted the fundamental conflict operating within the Diocese through the 1990s—and the changed balance of fortunes as its resolution drew near. Goodhew’s concern with church planting had always been for its impact on the constitutionality of the Anglican Church; the reformers’ enthusiasm for planting had been about finding more effective ways of getting the gospel message (especially as they understood it) across, irrespective of the impact this might have on formal structures. ‘The threat is denominationalism, which was represented by Harry and his people,’ Ballantine-Jones explains. ‘If you can say anything about the tensions of the 90s that was the real issue to us: Harry tried to turn the clock back or keep things as they were.’ In March 2001 Goodhew spoke at a civic reception in his honour just prior to his retirement. Before an audience whose members represented many faiths and none, he explained why he continued to hold the Christian faith. ‘I do not believe,’ he said, ‘that either you or I are the chance products of blind and meaningless processes, processes 69
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that—by a myriad of chances and through a labyrinth of purposeless meanderings—have produced creatures like ourselves [who] find themselves burdened with an insistent moral consciousness, and [are] inspired by irrepressible aspirations for meaning and values, for goodness, truth, justice and love, things which, if a materialist’s view of reality is really to be taken seriously, must in the last analysis be considered to be wholly delusional.’ It is precisely these ‘delusions’ that define us as human and appear to be fundamental to our wellbeing. So they cannot be delusions at all, he concluded, but must be intimations of the transcendent in the experienced world.66 It was an articulate and succinct case for his beliefs. But what most Anglicans wanted to know was not why Goodhew counted himself a Christian, but what his retirement would mean for the Sydney Diocese. He came closest to answering that question in an ABC Compass interview days earlier. Asked to describe the temperament of the Sydney Diocese, he said: ‘It’s vigorous, it’s enthusiastic, it’s sometimes a little self-righteous, very convinced that it’s always right, but underneath very firmly committed to the fundamentals of the Christian faith as the Anglican Church has received it in terms of its doctrinal base.’ Later in the interview he was asked how Sydney might react if those fundamentals of the faith were ever threatened. ‘If the Diocese of Sydney perceives that the Primate or anyone or the church generally is abandoning what it believes to be biblically based positions and the traditional theological position of the Anglican Church, [it] will take that very seriously.’67 Everyone knows that Sydney is big enough and powerful enough to do this in ways that could shatter the national Church, perhaps even the Anglican Communion; Goodhew was one of the few people to publicly admit that Sydney—or at least that small, self-chosen minority within it intent on reforming the Diocese—is arrogant enough to do it as well.
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3
Sweet victory There are several tough snakes in this Sydney jungle. —Francis James, editor of The Anglican, 1956.
n the assessment of many people, Harry Goodhew was the most progressive archbishop in the history of the Sydney Diocese. He championed the interests of the poor in Australia and overseas, encouraged the building of a string of low-cost Anglican schools in the outer suburbs of the city—thus bridging both a class and geographical divide—as well as initiatives in multicultural and Aboriginal ministry, and even allowed himself to accept the possibility of Sydney ordaining women priests. But his progressiveness—at least by the standards of the Diocese—was not rewarded and he left office as a figure well liked by the media and the people of Sydney at large but with his frustration obvious at having so little to show for his many years as Archbishop. Indeed, there was to Goodhew something of the air of a Shakespearean tragic figure. He could not enlist the support of the powerbrokers within the Diocese behind his vision. Where he urged continuity and unity in matters of ecclesiology, conservative evangelicals pushed for changes in worship, ministry and structures that would alter centuries of church tradition and test the patience of their fellow Anglicans. Where Goodhew tried to engage with social issues—even challenging government policies on welfare, health care, strategies for dealing with
I
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substance abuse, Aboriginal reconciliation, native title, and dealing with Third World debt—others seemed to want to subordinate Church involvement in public affairs to an almost total preoccupation with matters of personal salvation. Whatever one may think of Goodhew, his term as Archbishop saw him become mired in the purely internal politics these contrasting views of the Church and its role generated. ‘That has some degree of reasonableness to it,’ he said of this evaluation after his retirement. ‘The political issues were developing and wouldn’t go away. [The Anglican Church League] was developing and it was clear where that was heading . . . We were constantly being drawn back into political issues. The nature of the Diocese is such that that can’t be avoided.’ Politics may have been unavoidable in the Sydney church, especially in light of the many controversial developments on which Anglicans disagreed nationally and globally in the 1990s. By the closing months of Goodhew’s term, however, political agitation was also unrestrained and all consuming in the affairs of the Diocese. The focus of the greater part of this activity—however it might be excused or disguised—was the campaign to elect a successor Archbishop in 2001; the prize was the opportunity to define the identity and priorities of the faith in Sydney, to extend these well beyond its boundaries, and to reposition Christianity at the centre of Australian cultural concerns.
Which way next? A change in the procedure for the June 2001 vote required a candidate for Archbishop to be nominated by 20 electors rather than two as previously. This meant that the nomination process itself could be interpreted as something of a straw poll on Goodhew’s likely successor. In this sense the leading contender was Dr Peter Jensen, the conservative evangelical Principal of Moore College, who garnered 138 nominators, including three dozen of the same names behind his brother’s bid to become Archbishop in 1993. Jensen’s closest rival was Robert Forsyth, Bishop of South Sydney, and previously rector of St Barnabas, 72
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Broadway—a more moderate evangelical, with 45 nominators. Among the other candidates put forward were another conservative evangelical, the Rev. Glenn Davies of St Luke’s, Miranda and the ultra-conservative Rev. Phillip Jensen of St Matthias. Of these two, Davies was considered the major threat by some supporters of Peter Jensen. Both Davies and Phillip Jensen, however, eventually gave notice that they did not wish to be nominees and threw their support behind the candidacy of Peter. The field also included two moderates: Geoff Huard, Archdeacon of Georges River, and Trevor Edwards, Archdeacon of South Sydney. Huard was an open supporter of women’s ordination although he said that, as Archbishop, he would not pursue the issue in Sydney. Rather than emphasise matters of ecclesiology, he chose to underline his mission credentials through his experience of working in multicultural and multiracial environments both in the United Kingdom and in Sydney. Edwards maintained that he was only running to provide a genuine alternative to the conservative candidates on offer. He took Goodhew’s position that as Archbishop he would be prepared to assent to a decision by Synod to appoint women priests and described himself as a ‘generous evangelical’ who, though uncompromising in defence of the essentials of the faith, was ‘more relaxed on the edges, the things which ultimately do not matter for salvation’.1 Both men were considered long shots for the position. The last name to make the list was that of Bishop Reg Piper of Wollongong. While a churchman of conservative persuasions, Piper was also a Goodhew loyalist and, again a long shot. Some Synod members, however, saw him as a possible compromise candidate who might repeat Goodhew’s run to the line if Synod became effectively deadlocked over its choice for Archbishop as had occurred in 1993. At first, Peter Jensen insists, he was reluctant to run for Archbishop. ‘I always took the view that I didn’t want to be a bishop but that if the Diocese of Sydney, in its Synod, asked me to be its Archbishop then I would have to have a good reason for saying no to it,’ he explains. ‘I wasn’t seeking the position in that sense; I was perfectly happy where I was.’2 He was persuaded, however, to accept the nomination by close friends and advisers—among them John 73
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Woodhouse. They knew his support would lie largely in the clergy. As principal of Moore College from 1985, Jensen had played a highly influential role in developing, in particular, the views and perspectives of a generation of mid to early career clergy now spread throughout the parishes of Sydney. On the things that mattered to these clergy, Jensen was also one of their most vocal champions. He firmly opposed women’s ordination, supported lay presidency (although he regarded it as a relatively minor issue), maintained a strong line on sexual morality, and encouraged the flourishing of strong local congregations. ‘The church is not a bank . . . the branches are what matter, not head office,’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald. ‘The local congregation is what matters, and authority and ministry must evolve to local congregations.’3 This was music to the ears of the members of the now strongly conservative evangelical ACL, of which Jensen was vicepresident. His nominators included the league’s president, chairman and treasurer as well as more than half the group’s councillors or council family members.4 With the backing of his brother Phillip (an ACL emeritus vice-president), Jensen also drew on the old REPA connections among the clergy—although he was never a member of the group—as well as the hundreds of young evangelicals in the diocese who had passed through the St Matthias Ministry Training Scheme under Phillip and been influenced by his University of New South Wales chaplaincy. While he had taken a low-key role in many of the affairs of the Diocese through the 1990s, the elder Jensen brother was familiar with its politics: ‘I’ve always regarded it ever since I was a teenager as my duty to be interested in the functioning of the Diocese, to understand its committee system, to understand which are the important committees. I am perfectly proud to be a member of the ACL, for example, and have been ever since I can remember. I understand these things.’ Forsyth’s strongest base was among the laity, including some members of the now largely defunct Blue Ticket group—although he says he never joined it. While he called himself a conservative evangelical, he was regarded by many in the laity as more subtle, less ideologically driven and more open to a diversity of views than many 74
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other conservative evangelicals. For instance, while he outwardly opposed the ordination of women, the gender balance among his staff at St Barnabas was 50:50. He also supported lay presidency but with more circumspection about the possible ramifications of introducing it on relations with the wider Church. ‘Cohesion’ and ‘unity’ were words that peppered his discussion of innovative approaches to changes in worship and ministry.5 Forsyth had also been more cautious about church planting than some of the other early members of REPA, believing that diocesan boundaries should be respected and not crossed without invitation. He had also supported the adoption of the new Prayer Book at General Synod, believing that Sydney had ‘got enough’ by way of concessions in negotiations over its text—although subsequently in the Sydney Synod he only went so far as to support permission for its use in particular cases rather than its general adoption. For all these reasons, many in the original REPA camp considered that he had ‘turned’. Long famous for the friendly ‘poster war’ he conducted with the publican opposite St Barnabas in Broadway (the rector would post a religious message on the notice board of St Barnabas across from the hotel; the publican would display a witty riposte from the window of his saloon bar), Forsyth had an engaging personality and was a good communicator. The style of his chaplaincy at the University of Sydney—encouraging discussion and being open to critical analysis—contrasted with that of Phillip Jensen at the University of NSW and suggested that he was a more measured and enquiring thinker. ‘Sydney at times can be wearing,’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald in 1998, ‘because it is a very diverse, huge Diocese at one level and that creates all sorts of problems for people. The weakness is that sometimes we can be unwittingly too inward looking. The strength is that we’ve got something to offer Anglicanism in the rest of Australia and in the world.’6 Campaigns for the two leading contenders swung into gear in a manner not seen before in the Diocese. Supporters of Peter Jensen produced an expensive glossy brochure outlining his virtues for the job and disseminated it to Synod representatives. They solicited endorsements of his candidacy from high profile members of the Church and community—including one from Deputy Prime Minister John 75
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Anderson, who is an Anglican—and reproduced these on a campaign website. Jensen’s addresses and writings were also disseminated, particularly a talk he had given the previous October to an ACL dinner: We are now living through the equivalent of a spiritual cyclone, a cyclone of far greater proportions than Cyclone Tracy, the destroyer of Darwin . . . Do not be alarmed or surprised if your church is tiny and struggling, if the vast majority of the people around you are indifferent to spiritual truths, if it has proved immensely hard to pass on your faith to your children, if the media are hostile to your leaders and to your faith. All this, is what we must expect and get used to. We are not living in an even nominal Christian society, but in an ignorant and rebellious culture. Genuine Christianity offends opinion-makers of this culture. We must expect the culture to demand that we change the gospel to suit its version of the truth [but we must] address the secular challenge by providing flourishing Bible-based, gospelcentred, people-nurturing churches in as many places as possible.7
The ACL dinner had the aura of a political rally, and Jensen’s cry that ‘crucial to the future is the choice of persons for the work of the Diocese who will value Bible and gospel above all things’ could easily be interpreted as code for the platform he intended to carry him to victory in June. Forsyth’s supporters were less sophisticated in their approach but just as active. In an open letter to Synod members dated 9 May, six of his nominators recommended Forsyth as ‘a passionate evangelical, a person skilled in communicating the gospel to “the world”, someone who sees leadership as being persuasive and gracious, not legalistic or by compulsion, and someone who has the ability to bring unity in the Diocese but still allow freedom for growth and change’.8 They tried to drive home this message in a series of newsletters entitled ‘Conversations with Forsyth’ that were posted—together with information about and statements by the other candidates—on the Diocesan media website in the lead-up to the June election. In these interviews, Forsyth explained how he was raised a Methodist but joined an evangelical Christian group while studying at the 76
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University of Sydney. He became a Calvinist under the influence of Broughton Knox, an Anglican due in part to his friendship with Paul Barnett and, while ministering in Adelaide, had joined forces with Anglo-Catholics in the struggle against liberalism. Forsyth regarded himself as ‘an orthodox conservative evangelical’ but not a fundamentalist. In all, this trajectory in his personal journey of faith conveniently covered the range of Anglican expressions in Sydney. He spoke about liturgical reform, saying he was worried that ‘the economy and focus and power of some of the great prayers of our church are going to be lost in a disorganised chaos’ but acknowledging the need to ‘liturgically reinvent’ Anglicanism. He encouraged women’s ministry—including in preaching—but stopped short of advocating that women be allowed to occupy ‘an elder relationship’ or position of ultimate responsibility within congregations. As for his position on lay presidency, Forsyth said it was ‘lawful but unhelpful’ and so something he would not license in the interests of Church unity. He argued that the social role of the Church was not to use acts of compassion or of justice simply as evangelistic tools, but conceded that they did create opportunities to spread the message of Christ.9 To one degree or another, each of these statements emphasised the bridging theme that had made him an attractive candidate among more moderate Anglicans, especially in the laity. In an article in the April edition of the Australian Church Record, an influential conservative evangelical newspaper and a mouthpiece for Moore College, editor Robert Doyle gave his assessment of the candidates’ credentials for the job of Archbishop. Doyle described Forsyth as an ‘evangelical by subscription’ who, in the opinion of unnamed parish councillors and co-workers, was ‘not greatly skilled in financial management’, was a ‘hands-on’ administrator rather than one who delegated responsibilities, and would lead the Diocese in an ‘uncertain’ direction. By contrast, Doyle described Peter Jensen as someone who was ‘widely attested to be an impartial and insightful chairman’ of committees who ‘will not change the office of Archbishop’ but rather use it for ‘solid evangelical ends’. Under Peter, Doyle concluded, the pace of change would be slow, deliberate and lasting.10 Forsyth 77
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dismissed the article as an unworthy intrusion into the campaign but it was hardly helpful to his chances of success.11 With the candidates for the position of Archbishop clearly in election campaign mode, it was unsurprising that the media should give in to the reflex action of covering the story from a political angle. This brought forth a comment from Phillip Jensen about ‘the media hype of Machiavellian plots and subterfuge’ and the ‘arrant nonsense’ and ‘dangerous deceits’ of talk about plans to take the Diocese of Sydney out of the national Church and the Anglican Communion. ‘We as Synod,’ the younger Jensen urged in an open letter in support of his brother’s candidature, ‘must not allow the father of lies to have the victory by giving any credence to these defamatory misrepresentations.’12 Others gave at least some credence to the tone struck in media coverage. The election, said the Rev. John Cornish of Anglicans Together, could well be a ‘crisis’ for the Anglican Church. The Diocese of Sydney, he suggested, ‘has, over recent times, appeared to be somewhat narrow in its interpretation of Anglicanism and now there are forces which seek to narrow it further’.13 Moreover, something in the conduct of the lead-up to the vote seemed to have prompted the diocesan administrator, Bishop Paul Barnett, to plead for an election that was ‘democratic in process and godly in character’.14 According to some participants in the election Synod, Barnett’s plea was completely ignored.
Night of the long knives Writing in the Sydney diocesan newspaper Southern Cross two months before the June election, the Australian’s religious affairs editor and Sydney Anglican priest James Murray argued that a bishop is ‘“called” by God rather than chosen by the political manoeuvrings of a synod’.15 This, however, is not how some Synod members see the process at all. ‘The elections for archbishop in Sydney have always been “political”,’ observes Robert Tong. ‘I don’t think we accept the view that synods and meetings are “spiritual” and “godly” and sort of “other worldly”. Certainly they have that element in them in that 78
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it’s a godly purpose we are trying to secure. But when you get two or three people together who have to actually make a decision and vote on something, that’s the essence of the political process.’ And certainly if the election of the Archbishop in 2001 is anything to go by, God avails Himself of human power brokers to do His will and is not adverse to brawling debate, the exercise of extra-procedural pressure and a degree of character assassination to make His call heard clearly among mere mortals. As in previous elections for Archbishop, Synod would vote in a first secret ballot to decide which of the nominees would move forward in the selection process. Members would be asked to place a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ (indicating suitability for the position) against the names of each candidate. Those securing a majority of ‘yes’ votes in either the house of laity or the house of clergy were then placed on a select list. Those nominees who received a ‘yes’ vote from both the laity and the clergy in a second secret ballot would then be placed on a final list. If only one name appeared on that list, the President of the Synod would invite that person to become Archbishop, and a final vote would be taken to endorse the appointment. If two or more names appeared on the final list, a secret preferential vote would be conducted and the person who received the majority in both houses would be declared the winner. Debate on the floor of Synod would accompany each step of the process, but in closed sessions from which the media and the general public were to be excluded. In the first ballot on the first night of the Synod meeting (Monday, 4 June), Edwards, Huard and Piper were eliminated. Among the 442 members of the house of laity, Edwards and Piper only just failed to secure the requisite majority of ‘yes’ votes (Edwards scored 214–228, Piper 211–231), while Huard trailed by a wider margin (179–263). In the house of clergy all three candidates fared poorly. Edwards managed 104–150, with one informal vote, Piper 95–159 (one informal) and Huard 68–185 (2 informal). By contrast, Jensen received a clear majority of ‘yes’ votes in the house of clergy (179–75 with one informal) but not in the house of laity (209–232 with one informal), while Forsyth managed a ‘yes’ majority in both houses 79
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(clergy: 144–109 with one informal; laity: 280–160 with 2 informal).16 Jensen and Forsyth moved to the select list to be debated the following evening. The challenge for each camp was clear: Jensen supporters had to leverage lay support away from Forsyth; Forsyth supporters had to maintain his majority in both houses, but particularly in the house of clergy where sympathies for Jensen ran much stronger. Forsyth’s remarkably good showing had given his supporters encouragement in their belief that he stood a chance of beating Jensen. ‘Then the Panzer divisions moved in,’ comments Stephen Judd, one of Forsyth’s key campaign strategists. The full story of what transpired over the next 24 hours may never be known. What is known is that in speeches on the floor of Synod on Tuesday night, a succession of Jensen supporters drew attention to Forsyth’s alleged character flaws, and sought to reassure uncertain members of the laity that they had nothing to fear from their man. By contrast, speakers in support of Forsyth engaged in little personal criticism of Jensen. ‘We decided not to respond in kind,’ says Judd. ‘For the Christian it is not a question of the ends justifying the means. For Christians the means are the ends.’ The nature of the debate was described as ‘ungodly’ by one Forsyth supporter, the Rev. John MacIntyre of St Saviour’s, Redfern, and as uncharitable by the Rev. John Cornish. ‘If you’ve got God on your side,’ Cornish said sarcastically of the criticism of Forsyth before the second ballot, ‘I suppose you can say what you like.’17 Cornish also maintains that it was not made obvious to ordinary members of Synod that members of Forsyth’s staff at St Barnabas who raised questions about his suitability for the office of Archbishop were also on the staff of Moore College. The debate was ‘very hurtful’, is as much as Forsyth himself concedes, although he adds that he wasn’t present for the Synod proceedings and that he was ‘not as hurt’ as some of his supporters were. ‘A lot of it was not personal,’ he says. ‘A lot of it was projection of other fears on me.’ Not everyone was as sanguine about how the outcome had been achieved. Writing in the Sydney Morning Herald three days after the vote, for instance, Synod member Julia Baird argued that ‘the nature of the 80
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personal attacks [on Forsyth] was disconcerting, as well as the way politics can so easily cause people to abandon tenets as basic as treating others as they would wish to be treated’. Baird, who was NSW convenor of the Movement for the Ordination of Women from 1994 until 2000, pointed out that both Jensen and Forsyth opposed women’s ordination to the priesthood and declared that she supported neither candidate in particular. The spectacle of the election debate, she wrote, and what it revealed about the nature of the politicking in the Diocese, had caused her to feel angry and disconnected and so to take the unusual step of resigning her membership of Synod in protest and disgust.18 The speaker who came in for most criticism on the night was John Woodhouse. Woodhouse and Forsyth had become friends during their days as students at Moore Theological College. The two were in the same year and, as is Moore College practice, continued to meet regularly with other graduates of their year. In his speech to the Synod, Woodhouse commented on Forsyth’s behaviour at these gatherings to imply that he was not a suitable candidate for Archbishop. According to Synod member Michael Horsburgh, Woodhouse’s argument against Forsyth was constructed largely by way of implication, without supporting evidence, and based on one interpretation of a series of private social gatherings. The speech, Horsburgh concludes, was ‘among the most ethically questionable speeches I’ve heard anyone ever make and in the Diocese of Sydney that’s saying a lot’. Woodhouse says he ‘agonised’ over the speech and concedes that ‘no doubt it was hurtful to [Forsyth] to have a friend publicly say he wasn’t the person for the office’. But he rejects any suggestion that what he did was improper. ‘It was a terribly hard thing to do and I wish it didn’t need to be done,’ Woodhouse says. ‘[But] I can’t see how you can avoid speaking honestly about the strengths and weaknesses of a person for such a responsible office.’ But the ACL was not leaving anything to chance. Between the close of Synod business on Monday night and its reconvening at 6.30 p.m. on Tuesday, members of the league worked the phones to swing the vote against Forsyth. ‘Once it was seen that Robert Forsyth had the 81
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numbers,’ says Cornish, ‘the Anglican Church League went into overdrive.’ That ‘overdrive’ consisted of phone calls made primarily to clergy, urging them to pull their lay parish representatives on Synod into line behind Peter Jensen’s candidacy. For an organisation that championed the role of lay people in such radical terms as their right to preside at Holy Communion, this attempt to use clerical authority to sway their vote was odd, to say the least. And it was a numbercrunching on a new, more direct scale, even for the ACL. But the tactic appeared to have the desired effect. In voting for the select list, Forsyth’s support in the house of laity shifted dramatically. He managed only 206 ‘yes’ votes to 243 ‘no’ with one informal. His support among the clergy also dipped, to 101–157. Jensen’s support in the house of clergy remained strong (169–89), but among the laity his fortunes rose decisively (259–188, and 3 informal). According to some observers the process was flawed—not formally so but at least in principle. ‘In past election synods, in [the] earlier stages the ballot on each person was taken after they were presented,’ explains Michael Horsburgh. ‘In this election, you heard all these things and you voted on them all at once at the end. Now in principle this process is not a comparative process so much as an individual process. You are not actually supposed to be comparing [the candidates] until you get up to the later stages. We got to who was going to be Archbishop one step earlier in the legislative process than in principle we should have.’ Forsyth, he says, was let down logistically by his supporters: ‘They had their strongest speeches in favour of Forsyth reserved for the next stage which never happened.’ Part of the credit for this strategy of catching the Forsyth camp off-guard goes to Ballantine-Jones. ‘It just seemed to me that our chances were greatly enhanced by putting all our effort on the second night,’ he says. ‘And so we had our top speakers on the second night. They had their top speakers lined up for the next night. But there was not going to be a next night if we were successful in persuading the Synod to put only Jensen’s name on the final list.’ Having failed to achieve a majority in either house, Forsyth’s bid was sunk and Peter Jensen’s name alone was placed on the final list of 82
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nominees. According to Church insiders, Jensen’s supporters had hoped for a unanimous vote of support for their man at this point but this was denied them. The motion to invite Peter Jensen to become Archbishop of Sydney was carried by a vote of 214–25 in the house of clergy and 336–80 in the house of laity.19 Plans to reform the Diocese, press for change in the wider Anglican Church, and bring the ‘truth’ of the gospel to the city and the nation could now be put into action.
Cause célèbre Peter Jensen’s victory was celebrated by his supporters in the same vein as they had sought it: with an air of utter confidence and a sense of unswerving correctness. It guaranteed protection against the liberal tendencies at large within Anglicanism generally—as evidenced by the acceptance by so many dioceses of women’s ordination, the pressure from some parts to fully include practising homosexuals in the life of the church, and the ever-increasing trend to subject the Bible to a variety of revisionist interpretations. It also ensured a reassertion of Reformation principles and promised an end to mainstream Christianity’s steady accommodation to secular society with all its expectations and demands. Jensen, in short, would be a sturdy defender and promoter of the faith as defined by his supporters. His main rival for the position of Archbishop, Robert Forsyth, welcomed the result with equanimity. ‘Today marks a new beginning for our great Diocese in our on-going service of Christ,’ he said.20 In hindsight he observes that the ‘tension had been building up and the election was cathartic: it was the victory they thought they wanted back in the days of Harry’. Forsyth bore no grudges—neither he nor Jensen were present during the election proceedings—and the feeling was mutual. In fact, Forsyth was the second person to ring Jensen after he had learnt the result—the first was the diocesan administrator Bishop Paul Barnett. ‘Robert was exceptionally gracious in defeat,’ comments Judd. One week later, Jensen visited Forsyth and gave him a book for his birthday. ‘The healing [between us] began on the night of the 83
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election,’ says Forsyth. ‘Emotionally we bonded in that week.’ Moreover, Forsyth made a decision with important ramifications for the political life of the Diocese. ‘There’s no way I was going to become a de facto opposition leader,’ he says, adding that, having made that decision, ‘I’m no longer a threat to them’. To the dismay of some, perhaps, the decks had been cleared for the Jensen ascendancy. Those behind Jensen’s candidature made no secret of their joy at the outcome. The dramatic shift in support to Jensen over the two days of the Synod election, said the Rev. Glenn Davies, was ‘proof that the spirit of God was clearly at work’.21 Long-time friend and supporter Robert Tong was even more effusive. ‘I’m delighted, absolutely delighted,’ he told the media. ‘It’s so positive, because it means ordinary Christians have permission now to speak about such things [as their faith] and Jesus is no longer a sideline issue. God, the Bible and Christ are on the front page of every paper in Sydney.’22 But just who was Peter Jensen? Aside from occasional public statements that had been picked up and reported by the media, and the infrequent comments he had offered in answer to reporters’ questions, the general public (and that included the bulk of Anglicans) had only a vague and patchy picture of the man who was about to become Sydney’s new Archbishop. During his sixteen years as principal of Moore College, Jensen had tended to shy away from the media spotlight— often refusing requests for interviews, for instance, and deliberately avoiding the glare of television in preference for the relatively more inconspicuous mediums of radio and print—and concentrated instead on his teaching, writing, sermons and speeches before largely specialist audiences. ‘It wasn’t as if I was an unknown person,’ he says of his profile within Anglican circles, but neither was it his style ‘to make myself known’, particularly with the general public. Nor had he personally been exposed to other expressions of Anglicanism in quite the same way that his predecessor had. Harry Goodhew had worked in a parish in Brisbane and with the Bush Church Aid Society in South Australia; he had had a good deal of experience, in other words, outside Sydney in dioceses where evangelicals were in a minority. Jensen had been a curate for a short time in Sydney, then a curate and 84
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acting rector in an evangelical parish in the Diocese of Oxford. He had also been on the General Synod Doctrine commission for many years. But as principal of Moore College, points out Ken Handley, he didn’t have much to do with the rest of the Australian Church. ‘He wasn’t rubbing shoulders with other bishops who reflected a range of churchmanship, a range of theology and a range of capacities. “Ivory tower” is not the right way to describe it but there’s a hint of “ivory tower”. He hadn’t been exposed as Harry was. Jensen had nothing of that and by and large had spent his time with like-minded people.’ The three things most often said about Jensen by those who know him best are that he is a man of firm convictions, strong intellect and considerable integrity. But without doubting any of this, these and similar comments at the time left a lot of the detail of the man unaddressed. Jensen, quite literally overnight, had become a public figure of potentially enormous influence on the life of the Church and the city. Where had he sprung from, what interests and concerns drove him, and what likely impact would he make? Peter Frederick Jensen was born in 1943 and grew up in the eastern suburbs of Sydney. He attended Bellevue Hill Public School before going on to complete the Leaving Certificate at The Scots College. His religious attachment at the time was not strong. ‘Growing up in Bellevue Hill, where most of the boys in my class were Jewish,’ he later told the Bulletin, ‘I was Christian because I wasn’t a Jew.’23 The son of a printer, Peter Jensen would come to place a particular importance on words—and in particular, the word of scripture. He studied law for two years and worked as an articled clerk in the early 1960s, sharing an office for one year with a young John Howard, then took to primary school teaching for three years before commencing ministry training at Moore College in 1966. One man who met him as a first-year student at Moore was Paul Barnett. In an interview with the Good Weekend, Barnett recalled that Jensen ‘showed little of his [leadership] potential as a student or as a young minister and was, if anything, a little retiring in personality’.24 Academically, however, Jensen excelled, winning the prestigious Hey Sharpe Prize in his final year for coming equal first among theology students in Australia. In 85
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1970 he completed a Bachelor of Divinity degree from London University, and six years later submitted a thesis entitled ‘Calvinism and the persecution of witches in England’ for his Master of Arts (Hons) from the University of Sydney. In 1980 he was awarded a PhD from Oxford for his research in Elizabethan Anglicanism. He is the author of several books and a host of academic articles. Jensen was ordained in 1969, appointed curate at St Barnabas, Broadway and began part-time lecturing at Moore College in 1973. Four years later, he was heading Moore’s Department of Theology and already making a mark internationally as a Bible scholar. He was appointed to the Doctrine Commissions of both the Diocese of Sydney and the General Synod in 1981. In 1984 he was elected to the Standing Committee of the Sydney Synod and the following year appointed principal of Moore College on the retirement of Broughton Knox. In his sixteen years in that position, the number of full-time students almost doubled—from 142 in 1985 to 241 in 2001.25 Despite these achievements—and his appointment as Archbishop— Jensen still harbours a secret ambition of an altogether different sort: to be a stand-up comedian. ‘I love comedy and funny speeches. That’s what I’d love to spend my life doing. I like that sort of thing.’ But, says Jensen, the ‘critical moment’ in his life was the 1959 Billy Graham Crusade which he attended in Sydney as a 16-year-old in the company of his younger brother Phillip, then 13. Their older brother Ralph—who does not share his siblings’ religious enthusiasms—did not attend. ‘Two things happened [at the crusade],’ Jensen said during his ACL dinner of October 2000. ‘First, I became a definite, committed, evangelical Christian, living for the Lord Jesus Christ. Second, a challenge from Mr Graham led me to the ministry of God’s word.’26 Billy Graham was a formidable personality. Born in rural North Carolina, he made a personal commitment to Christ, through the ministry of a travelling evangelist, at the age of 16 in 1934. Graham chose to leave the South to study theology in the relatively more genteel environment of Chicago’s Wheaton College. He graduated in 1943 and returned to his roots to accept ordination in the Southern Baptist 86
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church, but by the late 1950s had broken with separatist fundamentalism to become a leading representative of interdenominational evangelical Christianity.27 His 1959 Australian tour was a phenomenal success. By its end, 130 000 Australians (or 1.24 per cent of the entire population) had accepted his invitation to declare their lives for Christ. In Sydney alone, his four-week crusade notched up a total audience figure of 980 000 (many of these, of course, being repeat attenders). Church attendance generally rose in the aftermath of his public appearances, to the extent that Graham himself declared the ‘spiritual hunger [in Australia] is the greatest I have ever known in my ministry’. Curiously, there seemed to be a parallel pay-off to the new religious activity in the form of improvements in social behaviour. Australia’s rising rate of criminal convictions levelled off between 1960 and 1962; the number of illegitimate births rose more slowly for the first time since the mid-1950s, and the consumption of alcohol for 1960–61 was 10 per cent less than it had been in 1958–59.28 How much of the public’s interest in Graham stemmed from the novelty value of such a high profile celebrity, and how much was ‘spiritual hunger’, is a matter of debate. According to one account, for instance, only 25 per cent of those who declared for Christ during his rallies had previously had no connection with a Christian church, and even prominent religious leaders questioned the long-term benefits of the Crusade.29 There was also a distinct character to the Billy Graham experience, the appropriateness of which—even by the standards of the time—was questionable. According to Stuart Piggin: A Billy Graham Crusade was a mammoth feat of organisation run according to military-like standard operational procedures (SOPs). The process was very masculine. Of all the twelve committees, only the prayer committee was required to have a lady vice-Chair. The team, comprising primarily business associates, knew how to enjoy themselves with men. For example on 30 May 1959 Grady Wilson, associate to Billy Graham, wrote to an executive of the Chrysler corporation [in Australia], thanking him for taking the team hunting: ‘The kangaroo hunt was tops . . . Every member of the team got a kangaroo.’30 87
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Nevertheless, Graham’s preaching had a profound effect on the young Peter Jensen. What most impressed him was that when you saw Billy Graham ‘he was not going to talk about politics or himself, and he wasn’t promising healing miracles and all that razzamatazz’, Jensen once told an interviewer. ‘What [Graham] was about was the Bible and Jesus always pointing away from himself to the Bible, and that was terrifically impressive.’31 But the effect was not dramatic. ‘I don’t think [of my conversion] as a terrifically emotional experience,’ he later explained. ‘I think of it as a clarifying moment when at last what I had been hearing [at Sunday school] made sense.’32 Jensen went back to hear Graham on no less than sixteen other occasions before the evangelist’s road show thundered triumphantly out of Sydney. In his adult life, Jensen would demonstrate the cast-iron resolution of the convert. His views on the key issues of controversy in the Anglican Church through the 1980s and 1990s had a take-no-prisoners quality to them. On the ordination of women to the priesthood, for instance, he once said: ‘The church is more like a family than a firm [and], within the family, men are the spiritual guides.’ In 1992, he led the debate in General Synod against approval of an ordinance that would have allowed the introduction of women priests and helped organise the one-third vote that blocked the proposed change. Similarly, in 1996, he led the campaign that saw Sydney Synod reject both the trend throughout the national Church and the recommendation of its own Archbishop by refusing to adopt the new Prayer Book.33 On an issue such as homosexual practice he is uncompromising: homosexuality, he has said, is ‘not very different to something like alcoholism. Someone may be genetically predisposed towards alcoholism but that doesn’t mean they should get drunk’. On lay presidency he is equally unswerving; he supports it because ‘authority and ministry must devolve to local congregations’.34 He has a keen sense of history or, more precisely, what his interpretation of history tells him about the shortcomings and the possibilities for the faith generally and the Diocese of Sydney in particular. Christianity, he believes, took a hammering in the selfindulgent 1960s: 88
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Here in Sydney we survived, more healthily than some others but still nowhere near as healthy enough—largely through our [Moore] College and largely through giving a great deal of intellectual attention to the business of theology and so forth. However, it was in a sense survival; we were caught absolutely napping intellectually as a Church. We had nowhere to go intellectually. And so to some extent out intellectual power in the 60s, 70s and 80s was absorbed with restating our case, digging in—doing this sort of thing. We survived, but it’s left us vulnerable in some areas.
The 1990s, however, were different, he says. ‘The word I have in mind in the 90s is freedom. I think we had a freedom to develop in the 90s which was far less apparent in the 80s and the 70s. I think there was a sense of freedom and a good sense of freedom—freedom to get on with things and do things.’ One reason, he says, was the laid-back leadership style of Harry Goodhew. According to Jensen, Goodhew was ‘a great affirmer of people; he strengthened you’ and he was also ‘less inclined to reach for the law book’ to solve disputes. Another had more to do with developments in the rest of the Anglican Church and the impact these had on the Sydney church’s self-perception: The theory of the Diocese of Sydney up to the 80s, I think, was along these lines: we [Anglicans] were the Church of England in this country. We owed our legal structure to the English church and then the way in which it came into Australia. We related to other Anglicans all round the place by saying ‘Well, here’s our structure, here’s our rules, here’s our common law: you should keep it.’ We [in Sydney] felt that they didn’t keep it, we felt that there were many breaches of the common law but we felt that on the whole we were keeping it and, as long as we were keeping the law, the others could do their thing [and while] we didn’t approve, at least we were in the mainstream. I think that with the ordination of women to the priesthood, our whole self-understanding was challenged and I think we realised that the legal structure for which in part we depended, in part [it] defined us, was no longer going to hold anything in place. I think that 89
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changed a lot of things and you said ‘Well, we’re not going to identify ourselves any longer by being the direct continuity of the Church of England in this country. We’re in a new age.’
This realisation, says Jensen, had a profound impact on Sydney Anglicans. ‘If you’re looking back historically you may, in 30 years’ time, say “Well, the 90s was a fairly pivotal period in which the Diocese [of Sydney] woke up and discovered that it was not actually run by law any longer but that its evangelicalism was allowed to flourish.”’ One example of that flourishing was the mere fact of the choice of Peter Jensen as Archbishop. He was the product—and, in his new role, to a certain extent still is—the instrument of larger forces at work within the Diocese of Sydney. Some would call them the forces of conservative evangelicalism, although that is probably too imprecise a descriptor. After all, Robert Forsyth calls himself a conservative evangelical, even though the position he has taken on some key issues is clearly different from the position taken by Jensen and his supporters. Others suggest that behind Jensen was and is a small group of likeminded clergy and senior lay figures who had become friends years before (including in many cases through the youth fellowship at St Stephen’s, Bellevue Hill, in other cases through being linked by marriage), and/or had at one time or another a close association with Moore College, and had eventually made their way onto the Standing Committee of the Sydney Synod. But it was clearly not a mere cabal that had propelled Jensen to the top job in the Diocese. ‘Harry was a transition [archbishop],’ suggests Forsyth. ‘He was desperately trying to move us into the very things that Peter [Jensen] has got us doing. Peter’s mission Harry had thought of; the tragedy is Harry didn’t know the language. He never got traction on the issues partly, in my view, because Harry hadn’t connected with the right constituency.’ Bruce Ballantine-Jones has no doubts about who that constituency comprises. ‘Basically there were nine years of inactivity in the Diocese [under Goodhew]. He should have realised that with all that pent-up energy that REPA represented from [Donald Robinson’s] time it was 90
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there for him,’ he says. ‘But he wouldn’t trust himself to us—the only people who could have delivered.’ In an interview with the ABC Radio’s Religion Report shortly after his election, however, Jensen flatly rejected any notion that he belonged to a faction. ‘The people that I represent in the Diocese of Sydney are the most populous group and have been for many, many, many years,’ he said. ‘So it’s not a faction and it’s not coming into its own; it has always been here and it has always played a very important part in the Diocese.’ Jensen preferred to simply call himself ‘an evangelical Anglican Christian’.35 But those disturbed by the kind of churchmanship Peter Jensen represented felt that there was more to that triplet of terms than met the eye. According to the Rev. John MacIntyre, the Diocese had become preoccupied with doctrinal purity and orthodoxy. ‘That’s their way of maintaining control over a lot of people,’ he told the Good Weekend. ‘The mentality of the Diocese is, “You will think as we think or you will not properly belong. You can still be part of us, we’re not saying get out. But don’t ever get the impression that you’ll be part of the movers and shakers.” ’36 The chosen ones were about to have their day and only those who agreed with them would share the glory.
Enter the new Archbishop Two days after Synod had invited him to become Archbishop of Sydney, Peter Jensen fronted a packed media conference at St Andrew’s House. He began with a brief statement: First, I want to stake my life on the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. That’s the agenda; that’s the news as far as I’m concerned. The main contest today, in the world in which we live, is a contest between the men and women who think that this world is all there is—and therefore there is no hope, no eternal life, no God, no forgiveness of sins, no Holy Spirit—and those who believe, as I do, 91
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that God is true, that his Kingdom will come, that there is eternal life and that angels exist. I believe in the Holy Spirit, and angels, and the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. And that’s what I’m on about. Flowing from that is a second point: I believe there’s a link between that first position of not believing and the grave social difficulties we are experiencing in our community.37
Jensen then went on to mention two topical issues—gambling, or more to the point, government dependence on, and so encouragement of, gambling revenues; and the treatment of asylum seekers. Although the questions subsequently put to him by the reporters covered a variety of topics, this foray into the public policy domain so soon after Jensen’s election set the theme of the coverage for days to come. In so doing, it ignored the emphasis Jensen had given in his opening statement—he had mentioned the Resurrection three times in 516 words—and so missed completely the clue to understanding the priorities he would set himself as Archbishop. At one point in the conference, a question was put to Jensen by ABC TV’s Geoff Sims about whether he would be embarking on a plan to persuade Prime Minister John Howard to say ‘sorry’ in the interests of Aboriginal reconciliation. Jensen’s answer was considered, if somewhat rambling, but he eventually cut to the chase: Now, the Prime Minister has his own views. I understand them and respect them. As a matter of fact, he is well thought out, and should never be despised for the views he holds. I think he is wrong, and I would indicate that to him. I think he has a view which, unfortunately, is not communal enough. I think his view is too individualistic and should be a recognition of the Christian understanding, which is that we belong together and we do things together and have a joint responsibility for things.
Sims knew he was onto something and asked a series of follow-up questions about whether Jensen felt Howard (a Methodist who had taken to worshipping in the Anglican Church) was out of step with 92
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the community in his refusal to apologise on behalf of the nation to its indigenous people. Jensen replied: See, it doesn’t worry me whether Mr Howard is out of step with the community. The question is, is he out of step with God? Now one of the difficulties of archbishops and others is that they think they’re God and they think that whatever they tell the [Prime Minister] is what God says. That’s nonsense. Archbishops . . . are not mouthpieces for God, so to speak. What we, as a community of Christians [need to do] is to say to Mr Howard, read your Bible— which no doubt he does—but read your Bible and follow what God says to you, in your own conscience, in the Bible. So we’ve got to point him to Jesus in the same way as we point all our community to Jesus, and to reading the Scriptures, so that people can understand for themselves what God says. So I’d say to Mr Howard, if he were here today, ‘Please Mr Howard, keep reading your Bible, keep saying your prayers, keep listening to God.’
Suddenly, the media had its take on the new Archbishop. ‘God Knows You Should Say Sorry, New Archbishop Tells PM’ was the headline on the page one story in the next day’s Sydney Morning Herald. ‘Church Attack on PM—Howard “Out of Step” with God’, declared The Australian. The Daily Telegraph reported: ‘OUT OF STEP WITH GOD—Sydney’s new Anglican Archbishop Makes Extraordinary Claim About John Howard’, while Melbourne’s Herald-Sun ran with ‘God, PM at Odds’ and even the Townsville Bulletin reported ‘Cleric Questions Prime Minister on God’.38 Two days after Jensen’s media conference, the columnists, editorial writers and letter writers joined in. ‘Dr Jensen has claimed a knowledge of God’s views on the micro-matters of Australian politics,’ Malcolm Farr suggested sarcastically in the Daily Telegraph.39 ‘Where Jensen oversteps the mark . . . is in his implicit assertion that his arguments are right because they represent the will of God, as revealed in the Bible, to him,’ commented the editorial in the Sydney Morning Herald.40 Even members of the public joined in the outcry. ‘The pontification of the 93
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presumptive prelate would merely amount to the usual propaganda from the office of the high moral ground if not for the sheer audacity of Peter Jensen laying claim to a monopoly on what God is thinking,’ commented a letter writer to the Sydney Morning Herald.41 Most embarrassing of all, however, was Howard’s response to Jensen’s comments, namely that it was a ‘bit presumptuous’ for people, ‘even archbishops’, to be asserting ‘without fear of contradiction’ to know God’s will.42 Jensen’s friends and supporters had an entirely different view of the press conference and its outcome. ‘In terms of the conflict between us and the media [Peter’s performance] was something of a coup,’ says John Woodhouse. ‘They didn’t know what to do with him. Well, that’s good: they didn’t put him in a pigeonhole. He had interesting and intelligent things to say on a range of subjects and that surprised everybody.’ Even Robert Forsyth, who was well schooled in dealing with the media, agrees. ‘This was the beginning of the breaking of the stereotype [of Peter Jensen],’ he says. At first, Jensen stood by his remarks. ‘I certainly have no regrets,’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald. ‘What I have said is that we have permission now to talk about God, the Bible and Jesus in a way that wasn’t there before.’43 Two days later he penned an opinion article for the paper in which he argued that ‘any archbishop must first of all declare, as I am declaring today, a prior interest in those who are most vulnerable, in order that our consciences may be alert’.44 But he was also beginning to retreat somewhat from the fire and brimstone sermonising. ‘I’m being slammed for things I didn’t say or didn’t mean,’ he alleged in the same day’s news pages.45 In hindsight he admits that his first press conference was a learning curve. ‘Until you’re done over by a large media contingent you’ve no idea of the turbulent waters through which you pass, how exhausting and difficult it is and how exhilarating it is as well,’ he says. ‘I thought the take on it was not quite fair, actually [because] I was trying to make another point which was certainly not critical of John Howard or anything like that but that’s the way it was taken and John Howard was fed that and he clearly got cheesed.’ There was no 94
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damage done to the new Archbishop’s relations with Howard—‘none whatever so far as I am aware’ says Jensen. Still, whether chastened, burned, distracted from his main agenda or simply made much more media savvy by the experience of that press conference, it would be a long time before Jensen would again offer such confronting views on matters of public policy. He was clearly more comfortable talking about matters specific to the Church, theology and faith—topics that also interested his supporters far more than his political opinions. A week after his first media conference, Jensen fronted ABC Radio’s Religion Report for a halfhour interview. He was relaxed, self-assured, and even appeared to be enjoying himself as he parried with Stephen Crittenden on a range of issues from recent developments in the Anglican Church to inter-faith and ecumenical relations, and the immediate task ahead. Jensen’s answer to one question in particular, on the role of the bishop, seemed to sum up much of his thinking on all these other issues. ‘In our Anglican church, the office of the bishop has taken upon itself various administrative and other functions [but] his job is to be a blessing to the local churches, because that’s where the action is. So it’s a servant role, a servant’s role which involves the preaching of God’s word, and the encouragement and strengthening of the local churches, which is really where the Church of God is to be found.’46 It was vintage Broughton Knox with a heavy dose of John Calvin and the Geneva reformers thrown into the mix. A suggestion of the latter could also be discerned in the informal approach Jensen took to his installation in St Andrew’s Cathedral on 29 June. Jensen drove himself and his family to the Cathedral and dressed himself in ceremonial robes that had been stripped of the frills and flounces that traditionally adorn an archbishop’s ceremonial attire. Despite the controversy he had ignited at his media conference in June, the overflow crowd included Prime Minister John Howard, Leader of the Opposition Kim Beazley, and the Governor of New South Wales, Professor Marie Bashir, together with 70 Sydney clergy, 30 bishops from around the country (including Archbishop Peter Carnley) and several bishops from overseas. Jensen wasted no time in his sermon 95
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addressing the mixed public perceptions about what he might bring to the office of Archbishop: You may be bored; you may be glad; you may be stirred—but some of you are afraid. This ancient pageant marks a transition to office, to power. All the pomp is intended to make the transition legitimate. Power is clothed in dignity to hide its menace. The outward show is intended to reassure us: human beings may avidly possess authority. But the question of power remains. So you may be afraid. You may well wonder what I plan to do with this authority. You may well also ask, has this power come to the right hands?47
The answer he offered was a general one. He would follow the Lord Jesus Christ and especially his last command to the apostles—‘to make disciples of all nations’. It was easy to regard this statement as a ritual genuflection to the Christian commission expected of a new church leader, and not as a burning ambition Jensen would pursue in earnest, against all odds, and despite the sensibilities of others who did not share it. How he intended to do this, would be revealed on another— and to Jensen’s mind more appropriate—occasion.
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Part II The Jensen Ascendancy ‘ “The coming wrath” is a phrase that brings home to us the significance of the issues of which I am speaking. There is a day of judgement; there is eternal life and there is eternal condemnation; the issues of judgement are worked out in this life; there is a Saviour and his name is Jesus; that men and women are in need of salvation from the coming wrath; that this, indeed, is their most desperate need. These are so clearly, so plainly the teachings of the Bible that it is scarcely necessary to recite them.’ Archbishop Peter Jensen, Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney, October 2001
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4
People of the Book Thy word is all, if we could spell. —George Herbert, 17th century Anglican priest and poet
f Peter Jensen’s installation was a relatively low-key affair, the same could not be said of his appearance at the mass rally organised to welcome him as the new Archbishop, held at the State Sports Centre at Homebush Bay on Sunday, 19 August. A crowd estimated at between 4000 and 5000 crammed into the centre, in what some of Jensen’s critics viewed as the beginning of a cult of personality being developed around him. At one point during the proceedings Jensen donned dark sunglasses, in what one reporter termed ‘the best pop-star tradition’, and joined in a rap music rendition of Isaiah 53:6 (‘All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way…’). Jensen’s youngest granddaughter, christened earlier in the day, was also introduced to the audience. The gathering itself—termed ‘Deep Impact’ by the organisers—bore an unmistakable resemblance to the Billy Graham Crusades of 1959; the main difference, apart from the much smaller size of the crowd, was that Peter Jensen now occupied top billing. ‘So what’s next in the quest for cool?’ asked The Australian’s editorial the following day. ‘Ten Commandments, the disco version?’1 Ray Chesterton was evidently more impressed by the performance.
I
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In the Daily Telegraph of 20 August he wrote, ‘It was another purposeful indication of Dr Jensen becoming perhaps the most prominent and controversial religious leader Sydney has ever known.’2 ‘This [was] more a party political activity than a religious experience,’ is how John Cornish of Anglicans Together assessed the event. Jensen, however, has another explanation of the occasion: The installation/consecration is a formal affair with robes and all that sort of thing. It’s dated. What is it? It certainly isn’t something that is going to impact in Australian society and it won’t impact on our church members who are well beyond that. When I go around to churches no-one wears a suit; even in the most conservative churches you don’t have chaps wearing suits. Church is now a leisure activity, not a public activity in that sense. The whole mood of church has changed utterly and that’s in church let alone in the community. So therefore simply to have the consecration and installation as being the thing was hopelessly out of keeping with the reality the Diocese of Sydney has become and that it needs to be.
The unorthodox Homebush gathering was an opportunity for Jensen not only to meet with a broad constituency among Sydney Anglicans but also to outline his vision for the Diocese, the city and the nation. ‘If I’m going to create a vision and sell it, it’s got to be at a stadium not a cathedral,’ he still insists. And this vision would be bold, urgent and uncompromising. To his supporters it would vindicate their faith in Jensen as the best man to lead the Church in Sydney and reassure them that the Diocese was now firmly on track to put the divisions and uncertainties of the 1990s behind it. To Jensen’s detractors, however, what he had to say was unsettling, promising an era of muscular Christianity with its challenge to the secular status quo, its attendant meddling in people’s private lives, and its abrasive repercussions for ecumenical and inter-faith relations. On one point, however, everyone was in agreement: the religious life of the city of Sydney was unlikely ever to be the same again. 100
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The vision Jensen began his address to the Deep Impact gathering with the question, ‘What do they think of us?’, ‘they’ being quickly identified as the secular media or, more specifically, the approach secular journalists took to religion, as typified in an article that had appeared in a Sunday tabloid some weeks earlier. It was a feature story in which the author, somewhat tongue in cheek, had appraised the various mainstream churches from the perspective of consumer choice, ranking them on a score of one to ten as one might refrigerators or hair care products. The Salvation Army had scored eight, the Catholic Church six and the Anglican Church a mere four, Jensen reported. The reason given in the article for the low ‘score’ was that being Anglican wouldn’t mean having to give up too much or trying too hard, but nor would it mean anything too exciting. Jensen acknowledged the article was ‘light hearted’ but said that it was also ‘fairly accurate’. Anglicans, he commented, ‘are cool, establishment, passionless, non-demanding’. And while that depiction was unfair in ignoring much of what went on in local churches and behind the scenes in church-based social, health and educational works, it also ‘forces us to face reality’. ‘[A] church like this is doomed,’ he said. ‘We are not going to survive in the modern world, and we will not be part of God’s plan for passing the gospel on. We will make no impact for Christ.’3 Within this train of thought lay the two key arguments that underpinned Jensen’s vision for the Diocese and the Church at large. The first of these was that secular society had reserved no place for God, and thus cut itself adrift from the ability to meet essential human needs, with all the attendant personal and social problems this gave rise to; the second was that the churches, if not compliant in this outcome, had at least acquiesced to it: It is notable [today] how rarely God is mentioned or his word consulted in public life. We never ask, what is the will of God for us? What does the Bible have to say about government, about citizenship, about national goals and aspirations? We do not even ask what sort 101
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of nation does God want us to be? It is as if we as a nation somewhere in the twentieth century decided to adopt a rule that we do not talk about religion. We are theological mutes; we have become adept at ‘the gagging of God’. The churches themselves have meekly accepted the rule that we don’t talk about God in public life. Even Christian leaders hardly raise the subject of God. They are confined to speaking about social issues only. Or they score headlines if they change or deny the faith. The person who seems most able to raise an interest in the really big spiritual and religious issues in Australia is the Dalai Lama. Real Christianity has been declared off-limits.
Jensen went on to argue that the critical period in this development was the 1960s, when the ‘hunger for personal liberty and individual rights led to the final revolt against God and his word’. At this point in time, what was left of the foundations of Western civilisation— belief in God, the Bible and the essential tenets of the Christian faith—were swept away. ‘The culture is not now merely anti-Christian,’ Jensen told his audience, ‘it has suppressed the memory of Christ.’ The result was a ‘spiritual gulf ’ filled with ‘false religion’, ‘new spiritualities’, drugs, gambling, pornography, consumerism, the worship of sport and the idolisation of celebrities. A spiritual battle was being waged for the hearts, minds and souls of the next generation, Jensen continued, in which it had become ‘almost as unusual to have a friend who is a church-going Anglican as it is to have a friend who is an animal-keeper at the zoo’. If the battle was not to be lost forever, no time could be wasted in assembling an army of Christian evangelists to wage it with all the resources left at their disposal. ‘If we wish to have a deep impact on our society—humanly speaking—we need to aim in the next decade to have at least 10 per cent of the population who are committed, equipped and bold to speak in the name of Christ,’ Jensen declared. ‘There will need to be more of us, and the more of us will need to be more deeply committed, more constantly prayerful, more missionary minded, more 102
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confident in God, better equipped, better educated in the Bible and more prepared to sacrifice time and money and worldly happiness, than ever before.’ The task was not an impossible one, the Archbishop hastened to add. For a start there was Moore College, which was ‘bulging and bigger numbers are expected’ with young men and women who are ‘enthusiastic’, ‘well-trained’ and ‘spiritually minded’. The Diocese had a ‘much better educated laity than almost any other denomination, a well-trained clergy and a principled commitment to truth’ based in a ‘sound and biblical gospel’. There were already signs of a missionary ethos developing throughout the Diocese. And there was the need for spiritual renewal within the wider community that stemmed from the ‘misery of sin on every side and the consequences of sin’ that were becoming ever more apparent and oppressive. ‘In the Book of Revelation, [the evangelist] John sees “the glory and honour of all the nations” brought into the city of the one God,’ Jensen said in his conclusion. ‘That is our vision too.’ Virtually all religious leaders had used a similar rhetoric before. And most of them had expressed the ambition to increase the membership of the churches they represented. Among recent Sydney Anglican leaders, Donald Robinson had initiated a ‘Vision for Growth’ in 1984 which would see resources concentrated on the development of new ministries and churches in the city’s rapidly expanding outer suburbs.4 Harry Goodhew had set a target of a 5 per cent annual increase in church attendance at the beginning of his term in office and in 1998 had encouraged the General Synod to set up a task force to examine the results of the 1996 National Church Life Survey with a view to reversing the decline in Anglican congregations nationally. Even the 10 per cent mission goal is something Jensen inherited: it was a target set by Goodhew’s Diocesan Executive Board prior to his retirement, although in Jensen’s judgment ‘they didn’t seem to be going anywhere with it’. What made Jensen’s approach different was, first, the singlemindedness with which he approached evangelism in the life of the Diocese. ‘I intend to take every opportunity to put God on the agenda of our nation,’ he told the Homebush gathering—and he has not 103
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wavered in his conviction. The gravest problems facing the church are unbelief and the need for evangelism, he explained in an interview two years later. ‘That’s why I think it’s got to be distinguished from the rest [of the problems facing us] and really concentrated on. Otherwise we’ll go out backwards.’ And where Goodhew juggled a number of priorities, Jensen would remain steadfastly focused on this one. ‘I’ve got to speak loudly and clearly and narrowly about it in order to make the point,’ he insisted. The second characteristic that distinguished Jensen’s approach was the uncompromising way he was prepared to go about it. Certainly, when it came to the sensibilities of others he didn’t seem to mind who he offended. In an interview with the Sydney Morning Herald following his Homebush address, for instance, Jensen demanded that the gag on discussing religious matters be lifted in the secular environment of the workplace. To that end, he would be urging Christians to seize every opportunity to tell their workmates about Jesus, he said. This brought a response from the Labour Council of NSW about a risk that persistent and passionate proselytising could constitute harassment. ‘Everyone has the right to expect that when they ask someone who is preaching religion in the workplace to desist, that they do,’ a spokesman for the council said. The chief executive of Employers First (formerly the Employers’ Federation), Gary Brack, agreed: employers had a right, he said, to ban preaching during work hours, although they could not prevent it occurring during tea and meal breaks. Jensen dismissed these comments. ‘There is one God and he has shown himself to us in Jesus,’ he said. ‘It’s up to me to persuade other people of the truth of that.’5 Jensen’s plans to spread the gospel brought even stronger opposition from representatives of the Buddhist and Muslim communities. The Archbishop’s suggestion, made during the Homebush gathering, that Wollongong’s multicultural community—particularly those with a Buddhist background—had been brought to this country by God to enable them to ‘share the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ’, was met with derision from the NSW Buddhist Council’s Graeme Lyall. ‘There is no way any Buddhist could be swayed by the superstitious ravings of 104
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a fundamentalist Christian,’ Lyall told the Sydney Morning Herald. Similarly, the Supreme Islamic Council of NSW criticised Jensen’s assertion that Christians were in the right if they chose to proselytise in Islamic countries, whether or not local laws permitted such activity. Muslims respected Australian laws, said the council’s chairman Gabr Elgafi, and Christians should do the same in Muslim countries. The chairman of the Community Relations Commission for a Multicultural NSW , Stephen Kerkyasharian, urged restraint and sensitivity on all sides. ‘We should all remember,’ he said, ‘that whether we like it or not, we are a multicultural and a multi-faith society.’6 The Sydney Morning Herald took the same line in an editorial of 21 August which could only be read as a shot across the bows of Jensen’s ambitions for the Diocese: Australia is a multi-god society, with 70 percent of Australians nominally calling themselves Christians. However, only 16 percent attend church. The 30 percent who say they are not Christians either do not believe in God, or identify with a wide range of other religions such as Buddhism, the fastest-growing religion in Australia. It should not be necessary, however, to quote these figures. It is appropriate, indeed vital, in a free society that individuals should be able to cherish their religious beliefs. It is arrogant and dangerous, however, for anyone to assume a right or duty to convert others. All the blood that has been shed, and continues to be shed, around the world in the name of religion adequately makes this point. In the multicultural, multi-god nation that modern Australia is, proselytising can only needlessly provoke community tensions. In Australia, one’s religion is largely a private matter. It should remain that way.7
But this was precisely the kind of thinking Jensen sought to challenge. In a letter to the editor two days later, he wrote that the ‘mistake the Sydney Morning Herald makes is to imply it has a position of neutral objectivity in this debate, when in fact its views are characterised by aggressive relativism’. Jensen accused the newspaper of contributing to the ‘gagging of God’ in seeking to turn a ‘social policy (multiculturalism) into the theological stance that Australia is a multi-god 105
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society’. He insisted that in a free and open society space must be given to proselytising by all religions. In the case of Christians, he wrote, this simply meant taking ‘appropriate opportunities to tell people the “news” about Jesus Christ’.8 But what exactly was this ‘news’ or, more to the point, the nature of the construction Jensen placed upon it?
Flirting with fundamentalism The Buddhist Council’s Graeme Lyall was neither the first nor the only person to accuse Jensen of being a fundamentalist Christian. Reporters, commentators, and even some Anglicans inside and outside Sydney have made the same claim—or alluded to it. For instance, John Cornish argues that Jensen and like-minded conservative evangelicals ‘find it difficult to see that you can be successful other than being a hardline, “Are you saved?” sort of fundamentalist church’. Indeed, so strong is the association of fundamentalism with Jensen that he chose to open his first presidential address to the Sydney Synod in October 2001 by taking the charge head-on. ‘Fundamentalism is an ugly word, with fearful significance,’ he said. It had developed a ‘reputation for fanaticism’ and was rightly scorned by cultured people. ‘Today,’ Jensen told the Synod, ‘fundamentalism implies an anti-intellectual, backward-looking and ugly zeal in the cause of religion.’ But it was not something either he or conservative evangelicalism generally embraced. ‘The greatest apologetic challenge at the moment,’ he said, ‘is to distinguish classical, orthodox Christianity from fundamentalism’ and he proposed to do just that.9 For Jensen, the defining characteristic of fundamentalists was their retreat from the modern world into a self-imposed and self-deluding isolation. But he paid homage to their motivations. ‘Their great contribution is their critique of radical Christianity and the complacency of the mainstream church,’ he told the Synod. ‘What they say to us is that, if we keep compromising with the world, the church will disappear, for no-one will want to belong to it. And in this, at least, they have 106
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been proved right. Modernised Christianity is so anaemic that the denominations that embraced it are in danger of disappearing.’ But he was an evangelical Christian, Jensen insisted, not a fundamentalist, and what the nation needed was a Christianity that was classical, not fundamentalist. Both viewed the Bible as the word of God but unlike the latter, the former was enriched by interpretive readings of it and chose not to ‘inhabit the past’: Classical Christianity is based above all in the Bible. The scriptures have priority over all the thoughts of the human heart whether in the tradition of the church or in human experience. But orthodoxy is not in an intellectual isolation ward. In the first place it acknowledges the immense debt we owe to the Christians who have gone before us. It learns to interpret the Bible in the light of the reading of the Bible down through the centuries. In particular it learns from the early centuries of the church’s reading of scripture, and it learns from the Reformation of the sixteenth century as well as genuine advances of the more recent historical approach. And orthodox evangelicalism is also prepared to learn from contemporary thought. It recognises that current experience will always force us to ask new questions of the Bible and to discover truths of God’s revelation which may have been neglected or not understood.
Rightly or wrongly, for many people one of the defining characteristics of fundamentalist Christians is their literal reading of the Bible— their belief, for instance, that the world was actually created in seven days according to the account given in the Book of Genesis. Jensen chose to distinguish his conception of classical Christianity on this point. ‘I read the Bible literally—that is, on its own terms—but not literalistically,’ he said. Still, he recognised the ‘threat to foundational beliefs and standard ethical commitments [now] being posed by how we read the text of scripture’, rejecting a post-modernist predilection to interpret texts from the perspective of the reader rather than the author in preference for the ‘plain teaching of scripture’. What he meant by this distinction has baffled many onlookers ever since. How is reading the Bible literally any different to reading it 107
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literalistically? ‘I think a literalistic reading is a reading which takes no notice of the literary genre but I am a literal reader—I’m not an analogical reader. I don’t read “The Lord is my shepherd” and go off into mystical flights or something like that,’ he explains. The clearest and simplest exposition of what he understands by this distinction can be found in lecture notes Jensen wrote for a correspondence course on doctrine while principal of Moore College, in a section subtitled ‘Truth and Scripture’: It is useless to believe that our attitude to the Bible can remain completely unchanged. We no longer think about the world in the way that our ancestors did. We cannot believe, for example, that the sun goes around the earth. In addition, the study of history has shown us many things about the world of the Bible which must have a bearing on the way we understand it. In various ways we are better off than our predecessors. If we wish to maintain a strong belief in the inspiration of the Bible we must take these things into account.10
But what do such things make of the Bible’s reliability as a source of truth, and how do they dictate that it should be read? Jensen’s answer to the first question is that the Bible remains ‘entirely truthful and trustworthy in all that it asserts, and both the words “infallible” and “inerrant” can properly be used to describe it’. As to the second question, he points out that ‘the language of the Bible, like ordinary language, uses devices such as approximation, rounded numbers, hyperbole, and metaphor’ and that it contains ‘a variety of literary types—poetry, wisdom, history and apocalypse, for example’, each of which should be read in accordance with the type of literature they represent.11 While the latter answer is certainly the case, hitching it with the former skirts the essential division between liberal and mainstream biblical scholars, and their fundamentalist and conservative evangelical counterparts. This divide is over the extent to which the Bible is God speaking directly to humanity, as distinct from a reflection of the understandings specific people in specific times and places had of God and His relationship to them. 108
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By reducing this distinction to so much post-modernist mumbo jumbo, Jensen basically succeeds only in avoiding the issue. The Bible may be entirely truthful and trustworthy, but about what, exactly—the nature of God, His moral prescripts, historical events; or what its authors thought of each of these things? The second answer allows for interpretation and flexibility; the first requires rigidity in one’s basic approach to scripture. And in this rigidity lies a deeper and more complex insight into the culture of fundamentalism. On the same day that Archbishop Jensen opened the 2001 Sydney Synod, an internationally respected scholar on ecumenism and religious pluralism, Associate Professor of Interfaith Dialogue John D’Arcy May at Trinity College, Dublin, gave an address to the NSW Ecumenical Council that was also on the subject of religious fundamentalism. ‘Each of our religious traditions has built into it the conviction of its intrinsic superiority over all others,’ May observed. When that conviction leads those who hold it to insist they possess ‘the only sure road to the goal of human and cosmic fulfilment’ the fundamentalist mindset has come into play. ‘Fundamentalism can manifest itself in many different ways according to culture and context, though all of them are characterised by the a priori assertion of some set of tenets in defence of what is taken to be a threatened institution.’ May gave as an example the centralising tendencies within his own Catholic Church. May went on to argue that there is no longer any serious discussion within the Catholic Church about power sharing between the Pope and his bishops, much less about acknowledging the opinions— what Catholics call the sensus fidelium—of the faithful. Synods are held but their outcomes are predetermined, theologians are harshly disciplined if they step beyond the official line in their speculations, and the laity has been marginalised. Rome now lays claim to the authority to teach absolute truth without the possibility of error. As a result, Vatican officials exercise more influence than they did at any time in the church’s history, under a papacy whose monarchical glory has been restored in everything but its forms. What May called this ‘flirt with fundamentalism’ should not only concern Catholics; it also influences Rome’s approach to ecumenical and inter-faith dialogue. 109
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Citing a document entitled Dominus Jesus which was released the previous year by the Vatican—and which, to an outcry from many Catholics engaged in ecumenical dialogue, among other things described Protestants as not having ‘churches in the proper sense’— May argued that the Catholic Church saw itself as the only partner in the dialogue with anything to say, and that was merely an invitation to join its ranks.12 May offered no observations on what was happening in the Anglican Diocese of Sydney, but the thrust of what he had to say seemed just as pertinent to the direction in which its members were now being led as it was to Catholics under the papacy of John Paul II. After all, despite his protests to the contrary, there were hints in Jensen’s presidential address that he too was encouraging at least a flirtation with fundamentalism. What he understood by ‘classical, orthodox Christianity’ sounded very much like May’s a priori assertion of a set of tenets. ‘“The coming wrath”,’ Jensen told the Synod, ‘is a phrase that brings home to us the significance of the issues of which I am speaking. There is a day of judgement; there is eternal life and there is eternal condemnation; the issues of judgement are worked out in this life; there is a Saviour and his name is Jesus; that men and women are in need of salvation from the coming wrath; that this, indeed, is their most desperate need. These are so clearly, so plainly the teachings of the Bible that it is scarcely necessary to recite them.’ But it is necessary to defend them and to promote them vigorously so that others might also be saved. The mission program Jensen laid out in his first few months in office had another ring of fundamentalism to it in terms of its approach. John D’Arcy May had referred to the fundamentalist mindset—to the way fundamentalists viewed the world and their precarious position in it. In their Introduction to Fundamentalism Observed, a major study undertaken by the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the series editors Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby outlined the defining components of fundamentalism as a program of action,13 which centre on the notion of militancy. The primary component is that fundamentalists are people fighting back. Fundamentalists ‘begin as traditionalists who perceive some 110
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challenge or threat to their core identity, both social and personal,’ the authors argue. ‘They are not frivolous, nor do they deal with peripheral assaults. If they lose on the central issues, they believe they lose everything. They react, they fight back with great innovation.’ Jensen had made it clear, both in his Deep Impact address in August and in his presidential address to Synod two months later, that he was fighting back against a number of threats—in particular those from ‘modernism’ and ‘secularism’.14 Some people will regard John D’Arcy May’s exposition of the fundamentalist mindset, and the characteristics of fundamentalist militancy identified by Marty and Appleby, as both far too general to be of any practical use in comprehending the conservative evangelicalism of Peter Jensen and those around him. Others will point out that what Jensen says and does is hardly surprising in a Christian church leader. Furthermore, whatever may be the worldview or the modus operandi of those who now control the Diocese of Sydney, each also bears marked differences—as well as similarities—to other expressions of religious fundamentalism. ‘I don’t describe them as fundamentalists,’ says Michael Horsburgh. They are socially and biblically conservative, he adds, ‘but ecclesiastically they are genuine radicals; they have no concern whatsoever for tradition and what they’ve inherited in the way of ecclesiastical structures and forms’. A comparison with Protestant fundamentalism in the United States provides a revealing illustration of where the common ground both begins and ends with conservative evangelicals in Sydney.
A nation under God—American fundamentalism compared As applied to religious beliefs and practices, the terms ‘fundamentalism’ and ‘fundamentalist’ have their origin in a series of twelve short pamphlets called The Fundamentals, which were written between 1910 and 1915 by a number of American Protestant churchmen opposed to the historical and theological implications of a critical study of the Bible. The pamphlets outlined the basics or fundamentals of 111
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conservative theology, especially in regard to the inerrancy of the Bible and belief in salvation through Christ’s atoning death. In 1919, adherents to ‘the fundamentals’ formed the grandly titled World Christian Fundamentalist Association, and the following year the editor of the Northern Baptist newspaper The Watchmen Examiner, Curtis Lee Laws, described a ‘fundamentalist’ as a person who was prepared to ‘battle’ for the fundamentals of the Christian faith. The description has stuck ever since. While the conservative Protestantism that produced this fundamentalism took root in both northern and southern states during the nineteenth century, it was in the South that it flourished. One reason was the appeal of an individualist and voluntarist Protestantism in the region—as distinct from the communalism and institutionalism of the more established churches in the older settlements of the north-east. A second was the connection Southerners were to make between the scriptural accounts of defeat, violation and redemption, and their own historical experience during and after the Civil War. A third reason was the appeal of experiential religion—and hence evangelicalism and later fundamentalism—as distinct from a more thoughtful and enquiring faith. Much of this appeal may lie in the South’s cultural legacy of anti-intellectualism. The United States Census of 1870, for instance, showed that while in total 4.5 million Americans could not read or write, almost three-quarters of them (73 per cent) were concentrated in the southern states. In the 1920s, 72 per cent of all Southerners were still without access to a public library, despite an enthusiastic campaign to build and support libraries in the rest of the country in the late 1800s. When it came to religion, the southern states specialised in producing charismatic preachers—not learned theologians. For all these reasons, conservative Protestant orthodoxy has remained the religion of the region, and its evangelical expressions have both influenced broader cultural and social activities and absorbed the wider folk appeal of popular spirituality.15 During most of the first half of the twentieth century, the conservative Protestants who would become known as ‘fundamentalists’ were 112
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largely indistinguishable from ‘evangelicals’. Both practised revivalism as a way of winning souls, and both maintained an insistence on traditional orthodoxies. But there were differences. Fundamentalists had stronger pre-millennial inclinations, and would read their Bibles not only to learn about history or moral principles but for clues to the future and in particular the ‘End Times’ that would witness the destruction of the earth and the Second Coming of Christ. Fundamentalists were also more likely to separate themselves from non-fundamentalists and follow a strict set of rules in their personal lives. Jolted by the tumultuous changes taking place in America in the late nineteenth century and early years of the twentieth—industrialisation, urbanisation and immigration chief among them—they also began to organise into a movement opposed to the disruption of their traditions and their orthodoxies and even expressed themselves politically to that end. They had limited success, however, and their cause also suffered national humiliation through their strident defence of views opposed to the theory of evolution during the famous ‘Monkey Trial’ in Tennessee in 1925. By the end of the 1920s, the fundamentalists had largely retreated from the public arena and were dedicating their energies instead to saving souls. After the Second World War, the differences between fundamentalists and evangelicals became more pronounced. While fundamentalists continued to insist on the need for active opposition to the sins of the age—liberalism, secularism and Communism—evangelicals sought a broader social base for their gospel message, and accepted that finding it would mean learning to at least get along with those who didn’t necessarily share all their views. This difference of approach led at times to major conflicts between the two: in 1956, for example, militant fundamentalists declared their separation from the evangelical leader Billy Graham, accusing him of a willingness to involve ‘apostate’ denominations in his religious crusades. Seven years later, fundamentalists resigned or were demoted from the faculty of the leading US Protestant ministry training college, Fuller Theological Seminary in California, and were replaced by evangelical teachers willing to embrace a broader agenda.16 113
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By the 1970s, the fundamentalists were reorganising politically. In large part this was a reaction to the social changes of the previous 20 years: the end of segregation, the youth rebellion of the 1960s, the new sexual revolution, and the moral divisions over the war in Vietnam. Entering the 1980s, a number of fundamentalist-inspired political groups (including the Moral Majority, Religious Roundtable, Christian Voice and the American Coalition for Traditional Values) had become known collectively as the New Christian Right (NCR). This time they had more success in mobilising conservative opinion among legislators, judges, journalists and educators, and turning that opinion into political clout. The NCR, for instance, won a sympathetic hearing from the Reagan and Bush Administrations (1981–88; 1989–92) and managed to push the Republican Party platform further to the right on a range of moral issues heading into the 1992 presidential election. Bush, however, lost that election to the moderate Democrat Bill Clinton and the political influence of the NCR waned for a time—at least at the national, if not everywhere at the state level. By contrast Clinton’s successor, George W. Bush, once again courted religious conservatives, even appointed many to key positions in his administration. Bush Jnr also supported moves to enlist religious groups (or what he called ‘faith-based communities’) in the delivery of government services, and lent his weight to key items on the moral agenda of conservative evangelicals in particular, including legislation on the rights of unborn victims of violence (a law arguably in conflict with the 1973 Supreme Court ruling in Roe v. Wade which paved the way for legalised abortion) and proposals to amend the Constitution defining marriage as exclusively a union of a man and a woman (the effect of which would be to outlaw gay ‘marriages’). According to a number of political commentators, Bush’s outreach to voters with conservative religious views—and especially to white evangelicals—was a key factor in his securing a second term in office in November 2004.17 What has this got to do with Peter Jensen and conservative evangelicals in the Diocese of Sydney? For one thing, it shows a point of similarity in the attraction of strong, no-nonsense articulations of the faith at times of unsettling social and cultural change. It also shows 114
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how part of the psychology of that attraction is the felt need to convert others in order to influence change in ways commensurate with the beliefs and interests of those who feel threatened by it. The comparison with American Protestant fundamentalism, however, also reveals the dissimilarities between what has so far happened in Sydney and what has happened historically in the United States. Conservative evangelicalism has always been part of the subcultural make-up of Sydney Anglicans, but it has never expressed a kind of folk religiosity in the way that it has—and still does—particularly in the American South. (One issue confronting those promoting the Bible-based emphasis of the Sydney mission, however, is the extent to which they are comfortable with—and thus give encouragement and legitimacy to—more obviously fundamentalist-inclined Christians in this country.) Nor has conservative evangelicalism in Australia yet sought to become an independent political force in a country where, until recently at least, political energies must be directed and thus filtered through one of the established, broad-based political parties in order to have any chance of influencing public policy outcomes. (Among senior Sydney Anglicans, however, there is vague talk of the social dividend that will accompany the success of the mission resulting from a constituency that will demand that Christian morality and compassion be reflected in public policy.) Moreover, unlike in the United States—and again, particularly in the South—conservative Protestantism in Australia is constrained by its denominational forms and, in the case of Sydney especially, by its roots in the Anglican Church tradition. The critical question, of course, is the extent to which this may be about to change, especially in view of the influence of some Protestant church communities (including Sydney’s Hillsong Church) in the lead-up to the Coalition’s re-election in October 2004.18
Theology versus ideology One of the criticisms that appears most to annoy Peter Jensen is the accusation that he and his brand of conservative evangelicalism 115
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represent a radical departure from Anglicanism. It was a claim made, for instance, in a February 2003 article by Caroline Miley published in the Sydney Morning Herald. Miley, author of The Suicidal Church—a book on the parlous condition of the Anglican Church nationally— and herself an Anglican, wrote that the views of what she called ‘Jensen’s group’ are ‘distinctively un-Anglican, which is why its energetic expansion and attempts at domination are creating such a problem’.19 Much more prominent Anglicans have been saying as much for years. After the Sydney Synod voted to approve a five-year trial of lay presidency in October 1999—a move supported by Jensen—the then Archbishop of Brisbane, Peter Hollingworth, said that such an innovation would strike at one of the essential roles of bishops and priests in the Church. ‘Over time, we have identified [ordained ministry] in Holy Order,’ Hollingworth observed. ‘This whole Sydney exercise is fairly deliberately and consciously breaking it down.’20 Shortly before stepping down as Primate, Archbishop Keith Rayner (who a month earlier had declared that the lay presidency vote represented ‘a fundamental break with the principles of the Anglican reformers’21) expressed his concern ‘that ways of presenting the evangelical approach [in Sydney] have moved away from that genuine Anglican evangelical tradition’.22 Even the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr George Carey, weighed into the debate on lay presidency, saying its introduction would make Sydney unique in the Anglican world and threaten the Communion’s unity.23 A much more serious charge—of unorthodoxy bordering on heresy—was levelled against the Trinitarian theology of Sydney’s conservative evangelicals by Archbishop Peter Carnley in his book Reflections in Glass. There Carnley argues that a 1999 Sydney Doctrine Commission report wrongly interprets the relationship between the three persons of the Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) in such a way as to find that Jesus is eternally subordinate to the Father. This understanding of the Trinity, Carnley says, is then used by conservative evangelicals to justify male ‘headship’—the idea that man is permanently the ‘head’ of woman—and thus the unequal relationship between husband and wife and the exclusion of women from priestly 116
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ministry. ‘We must conclude that the appeal to an alleged eternal subordination of Son to Father, so as to warrant unalterable forms of subordinationism in human social arrangements, is a piece of special pleading,’ declares Carnley. ‘It is anathema to the doctrine of the essential equality of status of the persons of the Trinity [and yet the] members of the Doctrine Commission of the Diocese of Sydney seem prepared openly to embrace this heretical position.’24 How can people who share the same church affiliation come to such markedly different assessments of what constitutes authentic Anglicanism, even authentic Christian teaching? The answer lies in the historical accommodation Anglicanism made between its Catholic and its Protestant wings, and the way these two subsequently have sought to distinguish themselves and compete against each other. ‘While Anglicans of different schools claim a common pedigree, they express their differences by appealing to different elements from the common inheritance,’ writes Bruce Kaye in Anglicanism in Australia. ‘The very way in which they do so reinforces the differences between them.’25 This is not unique to Australia, of course, and it is even more typical of the various Catholic and Protestant subfactions that have emerged over the centuries in Anglicanism. This tendency towards selective emphasis has added to the richness of the Church but, in the absence of a central authority comparable to the Catholic Church’s Pope and his councils, has produced also an internecine struggle waged largely over technical matters of church governance and scriptural interpretation. In Beyond Fundamentalism, James Barr demonstrates how selective emphasis can also give rise to theological novelties.26 The evangelical appeal to orthodoxy, Barr writes, is highly selective: It picks out from ancient orthodoxy the elements which it, in its modern situation, wishes to accentuate positively: it ignores the fact that the same orthodoxy had many elements which are quite contrary to modern evangelicalism, and that evangelicalism thus has a total shape greatly different from that of the authorities in the ancient church to whom it appeals. 117
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This is true, first of all, of the ideas of the Bible. It is true that ancient orthodoxy considered the Bible to be fully inspired and fully authoritative. It saw it as a unity, a seamless web in which the entire fabric held together as one. The fullness of Christian doctrine shone out from every part. ‘Critical’ questions about authorship and historicity were seldom raised, though not entirely absent; and every detail of scripture was considered to be a potential bearer of important revelation.27
Barr sees this as a wrong-headed approach unless equal weight is given to other elements in the same orthodoxy with which they are connected. He offers the example of the evangelical reverence for St Augustine’s doctrine of grace in its relation to justification by faith; for St Augustine, however, this doctrine was inseparable from the sacramental life of the Church—something evangelicals tend to ignore.28 This same criticism of their approach applies to appeals to scripture. ‘In many respects scripture, if taken as an authoritative guide, leads towards a more “catholic” type of Christianity which is far removed from the evangelical tradition.’29 Referring specifically to Sydney’s conservative evangelicals, John Cornish makes a similar point. ‘The Anglican Church in Sydney is very Pauline in its theology,’ he says. ‘The gospels are not really quoted all that much. But there are parts of Paul, for instance, which they don’t quote as well. So it does worry me that they pick and choose; they’re not confronted with some of the difficult things of the Bible for which they stand.’ It is the selective approach to the Reformation, however, which is perhaps most relevant to an understanding of Sydney’s conservative evangelicals. Generally they insist that they—at times only they—are faithful to the principles of the Reformation. But what are those principles, and what weight should each be given? Writes Barr: The attachment of fundamentalism, and of most strains of evangelicalism in general, to the Reformation is profound. But once again the theology of fundamentalism represents the Reformation only
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partially and selectively. This is not surprising. The relation of evangelicalism to the Reformation is one of historical development, not one of identical reproduction. The Reformation itself was a movement very unlike modern evangelicalism. The evangelical movement is built upon the evangelical revivals of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and upon post-Reformation developments of Protestant orthodoxy on the one hand and pietism on the other.30
For conservative evangelicals, the key Reformation principles are justification (or acceptance in God’s eyes) by faith alone; the proposition that Jesus substituted himself for all mankind in a single act of atonement in his sacrifice on the cross; and the in-dwelling power of the Holy Spirit.31 The first undermined the entire code of discipline of the medieval Church—if men and women were saved by faith alone, what was there for the Church and its clerical paraphernalia for salvation? The second struck at the sacramental economy of the Church— if Christ died once and only once, the Lord’s Supper (or Holy Communion) is not a re-enactment (as Catholics believe and hold to firmly with their notion of transubstantiation or ‘real presence’) but a remembrance. The only difficulty left to account for was how to explain—and, more to the point, address—the quite obvious fact that believers continue to sin. Catholics solve this problem with the confessional; the reformers proposed that the Holy Spirit was constantly at work on the inward regeneration in each believer, making each truly righteous in the eyes of God.32 All of this, of course, drew in turn on the central place of scripture in the life of the believer, and no-one championed that more than the French jurist and humanist turned second-generation reformer, John Calvin. In Geneva, where he took exile, Calvin became by necessity a church organiser and by default a theologian. But ‘Minister of the Word of God’ was the only title to which he ever laid claim. It was Calvin’s passionate belief that scripture constituted ‘the mouth of God’—the use of human language to address mankind directly—and that what he had to say constituted ‘not teaching (doctrinam) delivered by the will of men, but dictated (dictatum) by the Holy Ghost . . . Moses and the 119
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prophets . . . testified, as was actually the case, that it was the mouth of the Lord that spoke (os Domini loqutuum esse)’.33 Martin Luther’s contribution to the Reformation lay in stripping Christianity of the trappings of the medieval Church and reducing it to its essence, an essence found in the gospels. The effect was initially destructive, even anarchical. To propose Protestantism as a credible alternative to Catholicism required a broadening of its theological basis and then the practical application of this into a model of a church and community rightly reformed.34 These dual tasks would fall to Calvin and the reformers he gathered around him in Switzerland. Among these were churchmen from Britain—not the least of whom was John Knox of Scotland. These men would constitute a major influence on Thomas Cranmer, the first Archbishop of the Church of England and the force behind the Book of Common Prayer. Peter Jensen gave credit to their contribution to the theological foundations of Anglicanism in his June 2001 interview on the ABC’s Religion Report. To the suggestion of his interviewer, Stephen Crittenden, that Jensen’s brand of Anglicanism has a lot more in common with Calvinism than it does with Anglicanism in the broadest sense, Jensen replied: Well the suggestion is just based on absolute truth, mainly because the Church of England, when it was reformed in the seventeenth century, fell into the category of churches that owed their theological being to the Swiss Reformation, in other words, Calvinism. And so the [Thirty-nine] Articles and the Prayer Book of our church are Calvinistic. Now they’re not completely Calvinistic, that is to say they have elements of them which John Calvin himself may not have gone along with, but in terms of sheer fact, the foundation documents of the Protestant Church of England belong to the Reformed or Calvinistic wing of the church, so it’s not surprising.35
The reform theology, yes; but the Church of England also saw itself as the true expression of the continuing apostolic church, with all its traditions, and it retained its Catholic system of priestly orders. Both acted as brakes on the fulsome embrace of Protestantism. Among conservative evangelicals in Sydney, however, ‘we’re talking about 120
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ultra-Calvinism’, argues Michael Horsburgh. ‘Only the elect are chosen.’ Certainly for Jensen, Calvin had gone to the heart of the faith. In a revealing insight into his intellectual attachment to Calvin’s ideas about the role of scripture, in his Masters thesis on Calvinism and its contribution to the persecution of witches in sixteenth-century England (which he completed four years before becoming head of theological studies at Moore College) Jensen wrote: The Christian life begins with the communication of the Word of God, does not exist without teaching, consists in being ruled over by the Word, ‘trusting in the testimonies of scripture’, and, in fact, ‘should find its peace in the Word of God’. Then it is the constant communion between the soul and God, begun, continued and ended by the Word of God, given by God. To put it otherwise, the confidence in God which, according to Calvin, was a legitimate possession of the child of God, was essential to faith itself, since it was based upon the never failing oracles of God. If God’s Word were to be God’s Word, then the soul must be able to repose with boldness in its promises and obey with alacrity its injunctions. To cast doubt upon the Word, therefore, was not to raise a point of theological dispute, but to throw the soul itself into doubt and confusion, dishonour God, and reveal oneself to be in league with Satan.36
This insistence on the absoluteness of scripture in unadulterated form became a defence of the conservative evangelical line against more moderate evangelicals and against Anglo-Catholics, who were both open to greater nuance in their reading and reflection on the Bible and on its relation to Church tradition. As well, it became a licence to pursue their agenda against the resistance of Church traditionalists. This explains their robust pursuit of lay presidency. Calvin, after all, had insisted that the scriptures stipulated certain functions be performed—not that specific officers should perform them.37 And if the function of the Lord’s Supper (Holy Communion) was to remember—not re-enact— Christ’s sacrifice, then surely anyone could do it. This also explains the importance (or rather, lack thereof) conservative evangelicals place on church decoration and design. During the 121
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1970s, some Anglican evangelicals in Sydney began to less frequently observe the Lord’s Supper, did away with the wearing of priestly garb during worship services, dispensed with the old hymns, and started naming churches after the suburb in which they were built rather than after the name of a saint.38 More recently, that drift away from tradition has found its way into St Andrew’s Cathedral under Dean Phillip Jensen. To evangelicals the relative positioning of furniture—such as the table (altar) and the pulpit—make clear visual statements about the relative importance of Word and sacrament. That is why the new Dean’s decision to put the table in St Andrew’s Cathedral on castors so that it could be pushed aside when the service was not a Holy Communion service created such a furore among some regular attenders of the Cathedral services. ‘The typical Sydney Anglican seems alarmed by anything that cannot be explained verbally,’ comments one long-time member of the Cathedral congregation. ‘Any sense of mystery or wonder is anathema.’39 Conservative evangelicals also place less value on religious buildings as uniquely sacred sites, and are happy to organise services in schools or parish halls. They view the architecture of churches as setting in concrete fixed ideas that should change in a constantly changing world.40 While such an attitude may seem appropriate in an era when traditional worship is growing more and more unpopular, it nevertheless betrays an inward-looking attitude on the part of conservative evangelicals with respect to theology. As Barr argues, it is precisely because different factions in Anglicanism emphasise different elements of their common heritage that dialogue between them and openness to each other’s positions is critical. If conservative evangelicals can trace their lineage back to the Reformation, so too can moderate evangelicals, Anglo-Catholics and liberals. Interpretations change; understandings are modified. It was an appreciation of such realities that Archbishop Keith Rayner gave expression to in October 1998 when he asked, apropos of the homosexuality debate in the Church, whether it was time for debate on the subject: ‘May it be that God is calling us to review the tradition [on homosexuality] to see whether further light is to be shed on it.’41 The response from Sydney Synod was to rebuke him 122
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and distance the Diocese from his remarks. It is perhaps no wonder that some people view this as ideology masquerading as theology. Moreover it was Richard Hooker, the sixteenth-century Anglican theologian and author of the single most important systematic exposition of its kind in the history of the Church of England (Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity), who most profoundly characterised the changing expressions of the faith in the life of the Church as themselves being the ordinances of God. This view of change, argues Bruce Kaye in A Church Without Walls: Being Anglican in Australia, is not only a ‘striking emphasis on the engagement of God in creation and in the life and experience of the church’ but also became a theology that is ‘quintessentially Anglican’.42 The degree of elasticity inherent in Hooker’s approach seems a long way removed, however, from the entrenched position conservative evangelicals in Sydney have taken on issues of gender and sexuality. As Kaye notes elsewhere, elements of a common heritage, when stripped of their contexts, have a tendency to be regarded as articles of faith in themselves.43 As expressed in Jensen’s mission, argues Michael Horsburgh, the result is a ‘remnant theology’. The mission, he argues, is anti-incarnational. That is, it encapsulates the view that Jesus erupted into the world at a certain time to perform a specific act— sacrificing Himself to redeem humankind—and then departed. There is no notion of Jesus being the ‘leaven in the world’ on a perpetual basis. Consequently, the mission’s task is to subsume people into this remnant theology. ‘The job of a Christian is to make other Christians,’ Horsburgh says of this view and hence of the mission’s essential purpose. ‘It’s ideological policymaking gone mad.’ Still, Horsburgh’s is the minority view. ‘If anyone’s moved since the Reformation,’ says Ken Handley, ‘it’s not the Diocese of Sydney.’ Bruce Ballantine-Jones agrees. ‘A lot of the [Reformed Evangelical Protestant Association] agenda is actually taking place under [Jensen’s] mission,’ he says. ‘It’s just that it’s ten years later and all the shock-horror that was around then has gone, so that in ten years what was revolutionary and terrible to the conservative mind in ordinary Anglicanism has now become mainstream.’ 123
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Perhaps. But this agenda remains as divisive as it ever was even if the numbers have shifted in its favour on the balance sheet. Something of the passions this kind the debate produces over what is authentic theology and what is mere ideology was evident even in the way Anglicans responded in 1959 to the Billy Graham crusade: those particularly of an evangelical persuasion were attracted to Graham’s emphasis on personal repentance and individual salvation; others recoiled, maintaining the importance of the communal dimensions of the notion of a Christian society. Whether or not the dominance of Sydney by conservative evangelicals since the election of Archbishop Peter Jensen represents the Diocese’s radical departure from Anglican traditions, it certainly lends a sharper focus to what in 1959 appeared to be ‘two Australian churches each claiming an Anglican heritage but having little in common’.44 More than this, however, the direction in which the Diocese is moving may finally tear these two expressions of the Anglican heritage apart. ‘Everybody thinks that if only we were united that will progress the gospel,’ says the current principal of Moore College, John Woodhouse. ‘But a false, superficial unity inhibits freedom of conscience, it inhibits freedom of speech and I think it inhibits the freedom of the gospel.’ As Woodhouse sees it, the Reformation split the medieval Church and so allowed new energies and innovations to pour forth in the service of the gospel. Much the same may be needed today within the Anglican Church. ‘Institutional unity is of very, very little value,’ he argues. ‘I mean, it’s false. Whatever unity there is in the Anglican Communion today, what is it? It’s just a unity that is pretending we don’t disagree, or not talking about our disagreements. It’s an agreement not to discuss certain things. Well, what value is that?’ From an instrumental point of view, the answer for Woodhouse is clearly no value at all. But he even questions the intrinsic value of unity in this sense. ‘There is an institutionalising of Christianity that of course fits much more with the Roman Catholic model of the Church and certain Anglicans have been drifting in that direction and in fact hankering after that kind of structure, I think. But I have no attraction to it whatsoever. I think it’s unhelpful.’ Far from being an eccentric position, this is more or less the consensus view among those who now run the Diocese of Sydney. 124
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5
Soul searching Paradise is our native country. —Richard Greenham, Protestant preacher, 1612.
alls for Christians to more vigorously spread their faith as a counter to irreligion and spiritual apathy are nothing new but neither have the results been all that encouraging—at least over time. Beginning with the London Missionary Society in 1835, for example, the Church of England City Missions adopted an approach not unlike the one Jensen was urging on Sydney Anglicans: lay missionaries were encouraged to proclaim the gospel in the homes and factories of working-class people who otherwise would never hear the good news preached in a church. Known as ‘conversational evangelism’, this approach failed so spectacularly to win converts in significant numbers that campaigns involving more aggressive forms of missionary activity were urged during the 1850s and 1860s. Yet even these produced disappointing results. Despite a heavy investment of time and energy in street preaching, revivalist meetings, church-sponsored charities and Sunday school-based sporting and social clubs, church attendance levels rose slowly (to between 30 and 40 per cent of the population, according to the 1851 Census of Religious Worship), only to then nose-dive into a seemingly irreversible decline. A church attendance survey conducted in 1999 revealed that the number of regular Sunday
C
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attenders was down to about 7.5 per cent of the population, prompting leading churchmen to warn Christianity was on the verge of virtual extinction in Britain.1 By contrast, the American experience, on the face of it, could hardly be more different. The United States remains, outwardly at least, one of the most religious countries on earth and there is little or no evidence of a long-term decline in church attendance. Periodic religious revivals— especially of an evangelical kind—appear to have played a significant role in explaining this situation. But two factors in particular distinguish the United States from Britain (or for that matter Europe): first, the fact that America is a country of migrants and, second, the relatively diffuse nature of the country’s public life. Together these contributed to a more diverse, competitive and entrepreneurial religious environment than was to be found in the historic heart of Christianity. More importantly, these factors made both possible and attractive the resort to religion as a mechanism of ethnic cultural defence. Studies have shown, for instance, that much of what passed for religious revivalism in nineteenth-century America was in fact an effort to shore up the status of those communities and social classes who identified with ‘white Anglo-Saxon Protestantism’ and differentiate themselves from the influx of poor and uneducated immigrants from Ireland, Italy and eastern Europe. Often those drawn back to the churches by such revivals were formerly nominal adherents, who saw in religious identity a way of stressing if not their social superiority then certainly their sense of social order. Similarly, among the newer arrivals the continuation of the religious practices they brought with them was one way of preserving an ethnic identity, while still expressing a commitment to more generally accepted American values.2 For Black Americans in the pre-Civil War southern states, of course, churches often provided the only space in which they could display any kind of free expression, and in the racially charged atmosphere that prevailed in the South for a century after the war, churches were similarly a nonthreatening setting for community association and a route for individual social advancement. In the United Sates, in other words, church involvement has often served a socio-political function, and thus 126
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remained popular for reasons quite apart from purely religious ones. What both examples suggest is that Jensen has his work cut out to transform his vision of a religious revival in Australia into anything like a practical reality. Australia is not Britain and it is not the United States, but the experience of attempts to recharge the Christian faith in both countries cannot be ignored. Nor is Australia immune to the broader secular challenges of the times. One of these is the suspicion of claims that any one theory or story can provide an all-encompassing view of the human condition. Another is that biblical allusions, even metaphors, have ceased to be a part of the vernacular. By the late twentieth century, few people anywhere in the Western world calling themselves Christians felt equipped to talk about religion on anything other than a superficial level. Consequently, to talk about Jesus or the Bible seems more likely to stop conversations rather than invigorate them, to divide people rather than unite them in a common religious cause. The risk for Peter Jensen—and through him for the Anglicans of Sydney—is that by more energetically expounding his beliefs he will only dig the Diocese deeper into a cultural ghetto. But this possibility seems far removed from his thinking.
On the offensive ‘I do not believe that I have been brought to this position of archbishop in order to acquiesce silently in the passing away of Anglican Christianity in this region,’ Jensen told the Sydney Synod in his presidential address of October 2001. Instead, he wanted to go on the offensive with the goal of making, within a decade, 10 per cent of the entire population of Sydney (or 500 000 people) ‘committed, equipped and bold to speak in the name of Christ’.3 A mission strategy, ostensibly prepared by Standing Committee over the previous few months and presented to the Synod for its endorsement, outlined the way he intended to achieve that goal. In fact, Jensen admits, he wrote it all. Ideas were circulated and discussed, he says, but in the end the mission strategy ‘is obvious really’. 127
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Obvious the strategy may have been but the challenge was still a formidable one. Although virtually alone within the Australian Anglican Church the Diocese of Sydney was still growing, its vital signs were not encouraging. According to the Standing Committee strategy report, the total number of people attending Anglican churches on any given Sunday was only between 1 and 1.5 per cent of the resident population (or 50 000–75 000). ‘Even if the numbers attending all biblically based churches in the Sydney region are aggregated, the figure is substantially less than 10 per cent of the population,’ the report noted. ‘In fact, we must conclude that there are multitudes in Sydney who do not even hear the gospel in a clear way.’4 Basic to Jensen’s thinking about mission in the Diocese is an approach to evangelism presented in a book entitled The Spontaneous Expansion of the Church, first published in 1927.5 At first glance, the author—Roland Allen—was a curious source of inspiration for Jensen. Allen had worked as a missionary in China from 1895 until 1903. It was not the relative antiquity of his experience, however, so much as the fact that he was a Church of England clergyman of high church persuasions that made him a surprising exemplar for Sydney’s extremely low church Archbishop. Still, Allen’s views were insightful for his time, consistent with the ecclesiology of the Broughton Knox school of Sydney Evangelicalism and, Jensen hopes, all the more appealing to a broad range of opinion within the Diocese because they cannot be identified with a conservative evangelical. In essence, Allen bemoaned the fact that so many missionaries in places like China chose to set themselves apart from the people they sought to bring to the Christian faith; to make a rejection of the native culture a condition of conversion, and to keep the local congregations they established subordinate to, and dependent on, outside assistance in ways that constrained their ability to grow. Allen contrasted this approach with the early Christian Church, which had expanded by organising small groups of people as they received the faith along the lines handed down by the Church’s first founders, then leaving them free to take charge of their own affairs: 128
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It was itself a unity composed of a multitude of little churches any one of which could propagate itself, and consequently the reception of any new group of Christians was a very simple matter. By a simple act the new group was brought into the unity of the Church, and equipped, as its predecessors had been equipped, not only with all the spiritual power and authority necessary for its own life as an organized unit, but also with all the authority needed to repeat the same process whenever one of its members might convert men in any new village or town.6
The Church, in other words, grew most rapidly and effectively not when the attention focused on increasing the membership of a single organisation, but rather when the attention focused on increasing the number of local self-directed churches which together comprised the visible expression of the Body of Christ. Allen also took exception to missionary approaches which emphasised intellectual, moral and social advances over the essentials of the faith. To argue, he wrote, that it is impossible to lead a Christian life in conditions of ignorance and degradation was to subordinate Christ to environmental conditions, and to ignore the fact that many Christians had lived committed lives in cruel and barbarous surroundings under the Roman Empire. To give priority to intellectual enlightenment, or social improvement, was also to suggest that these things were based on some other foundation than the faith per se. ‘If we set Christ first, faith in Christ first, the Name of Christ first, we set men on a sure road to something that is infinitely good, but that progress is in Christ, not in our intellectual, moral and social doctrines, and we cannot set them on that path except by bringing them to Christ.’7 These ideas had already found favour among the architects of church plants. In October 2001, for instance, Phillip Jensen gave the address at the Anglican Church League’s Synod dinner. As plans advanced for the opening of the second Sydney-inspired evangelical church on the Central Coast, the younger Jensen told the gathering that planting churches across diocesan boundaries had to be put on the top of the agenda for missionary activity. ‘More people in the 129
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community are reached by an increase in the number of churches rather than having bigger churches,’ he said. ‘There is nothing new or strange in evangelicals being forced by their concern for the lost to ignore the constraints of men and institutions to preach the Saviour,’ he added. ‘What is new and strange is evangelicals ever accepting no-go zones for gospel ministry.’8 At the same time, Roland Allen’s enthusiasm for getting the message out, and worrying about its social consequences later, seemed to permeate the thinking behind the mission strategy that had been prepared for the Synod’s consideration. The strategy, entitled ‘Focusing resources for the gospel’, was presented in the form of a wide-ranging report. It contained the mission statement as articulated by the Archbishop in August, the diocesan goal of drawing 10 per cent of Sydney’s population within approved churches over the next decade, a series of strategies to achieve this, a set of funding principles, a methodology for making funding decisions, and guidelines to govern the implementation of the latter. Although amendments could be made to specific recommendations, Synod was essentially being asked to approve the report as a job-lot— which made it difficult for critics of any one particular proposal to garner support without seeming to question the whole mission. For example, an amendment to accept the report but to delete its most contentious recommendations—concerning spending—was defeated. So too was an amendment to leave open the 10 per cent goal rather than limit what the mission might achieve within its allotted timespan. Michael Horsburgh spoke against the motion to accept the report. While he agreed with the report in principle, he expressed concern that the position of ‘caring ministries’ within the Diocese was not being adequately addressed in the overall approach. In the end, however, an overwhelming majority of Synod members accepted the report with just one amendment. This amendment ensured a wide consultation process within the Diocese before the preparation of the final ordinance in 2002 for the distribution of money over the following three years.9 The core of the report questioned whether the existing manner in which applications for funding by diocesan organisations was handled 130
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was a suitable way of pursuing the focus on evangelism stressed by Archbishop Jensen. This ‘applications driven spending model’, it was said, was piecemeal; it did not lead to allocations that were made in the context of an overall statement of purpose that contained agreed and explicit goals and strategies. ‘An observer looking at the Sydney Diocese may well ask has the expenditure controlled by the Synod been directed in the most effective way possible?’ the report suggested.10 It cited problems with the current arrangement, including the difficulty of choosing between competing applications in the absence of some overall mission by which their merits could be judged. Also, the tendency to fund ‘urgent’ requests for money was found to work to the detriment of long-term and innovative projects. And a further difficulty was the distribution of funding over a number of years, because the total amount sought for any one year generally exceeded the funds available—thus making the deferment of any moneys that much harder to justify: Over the last 10 years approximately $83 million has been distributed for ministry programs. However, the information available from the National Church Life Survey and our own sources points to the fact that although attendance at Anglican churches has risen, it has done so at a slower rate than the overall population growth. It is appropriate therefore to consider whether a more focussed strategy driven model could deliver better outcomes for our diocese.
The better outcomes deemed necessary in order to make the mission a success were fourfold. First, more people needed to be recruited and trained for both lay and ordained ministry. According to the report, if the membership of biblically based evangelical churches in Sydney were to grow to 500 000 (or 10 per cent of the city’s population), between 2500 and 3300 lay and ordained ministers would be needed to achieve a ratio of one lay or ordained minister to every 150–200 congregants. If that outcome was to be achieved over 30 years (let alone ten years) it would require the ordination of more than 100 ministers each year—substantially more than the Diocese was producing.11 Second, existing lay and 131
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ordained ministers would require further training and support to enhance their effectiveness. Third, new congregations needed to be established and existing congregations supported in their efforts to grow and/or revitalise. Fourth, opportunities needed to be sought and encouraged to proclaim the gospel in the wider community, including through the medium of Anglican schools, the Diocesan youth ministry and its Anglicare welfare service. To these outcomes the report proposed that core programs be identified and given a priority in funding decisions—these would include Synod and its Standing Committee, and regional councils— and that the balance of funds would then be distributed according to each of the desired strategy outcomes. Specific decisions on how funds were to be used would be made by those performing or responsible for a particular ministry, and where possible organisations would be encouraged to become independent of Synod for their operational funding requirements. Consultation would be encouraged with all relevant stakeholders in determining funding decisions and an ordinance would be prepared at the beginning of each three year funding period for the consideration of and approval by Synod. The practical effect of these changes was, on the one hand, to free up the number and type of claimants on diocesan funds but, on the other, to tie successful claimants to the one overriding evangelical agenda. Critics suggested that the result would be greater control over the Diocese. ‘I am concerned by the question of who will interpret the strategy,’ commented Horsburgh. ‘Who will determine which groups best address the strategy? We won’t be effective if we only accept one goal. We need a multiplicity of approaches.’ But supporters hailed the strategy as long overdue. According to Bruce Ballantine-Jones, the new strategy amounted to a ‘revolution’ that would ensure the mission achieved its aims.12 Jensen remains sanguine about the strategy. ‘This is all the fruit of 40 years’ thinking and work,’ he explains. ‘I’ve been thinking about these things for years. I don’t think there’s anything particularly new. Intellectually it comes out of the Knox doctrine of the church—I think that’s a doctrine of the church whose moment has 132
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arrived because it suits the new Australian Anglicanism which must develop here and now. If it doesn’t, we’re done for.’
The changing of the guard Revolution or not, things didn’t end there. Any new order generally brings with it new people to positions of power and influence, and having embraced the mission as its core activity Sydney Diocese was no exception. The retirement of Bishops Paul Barnett of North Sydney and Ray Smith of Liverpool (Georges River) provided Jensen with an early opportunity to fill two key positions among the regional bishops with his own appointments. In September 2001 he nominated the Rev. Glenn Davies to succeed Barnett and Canon Peter Tasker to succeed Smith. Davies was the rector of St Luke’s, Miranda, and prior to that appointment a lecturer in New Testament studies at Moore Theological College. A biblical scholar, he had completed a PhD at Sheffield University in the late 1980s with a dissertation on ‘Faith and obedience in Romans’. Though committed to the ‘plain teaching of scripture’ and a defender of conservative evangelical positions on most issues, Davies was also a member of the General Synod Doctrine Panel and had been appointed in August 2000 to the honorary position of Canon Theologian for the Diocese of Ballarat by the Anglo-Catholic inclined Bishop David Silk. With a reputation as a fine pastor, outstanding academic, and a person who could build bridges across the spectrum of Anglican opinion, Davies had thrown his support behind Jensen’s bid for Archbishop as someone who was ‘able to present the distinctiveness of Sydney Diocese at home and abroad’.13 In February 2002 Davies was also appointed to the chair of Anglican Youthworks—the central diocesan organisation for youth ministry with an annual budget of more than $7 million, and activities ranging from publishing through youth camps to advocacy on education issues. Like Davies, Tasker had also been a strong supporter of Jensen’s bid for Archbishop, and had been one of the original nominators of his 133
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candidature. But his background also recommended him within the context of Jensen’s focus on evangelism. Tasker had been rector of St Luke’s, Dapto, since 1992, and the parish had witnessed considerable growth under his leadership. Before that he had served as a missionary in Southeast Asia, and had headed the Church Missionary Society (NSW) from 1978 until 1992. It was this missionary experience that Jensen emphasised in explaining the decision to nominate him to the heavily multicultural Georges River Region. The same reasoning lay behind Jensen’s appointment, in November 2002, of Ivan Yin Lee to succeed Brian King as Bishop of Western Sydney. Lee, who described his spiritual upbringing as ‘part cultural Buddhism, part assumed atheism’ had become a Christian at a church-run youth camp in his teens. After two years of medical studies at the University of New South Wales, he left to study theology at Moore College. That decision led to his eventual ordination and more than 20 years of subsequent parish work in Sydney and Melbourne.14 In Jensen’s mind, Lee’s background, his track record in parish ministry, and his commitment to conservative evangelical positions on issues such as the centrality of the local church, and the primary leadership role of men (women did not preach in Lee’s church at Hurstville Grove), made him an ideal choice to carry the mission to a region that stretches from Parramatta to Lithgow, and encompasses a total population of more than one million people. ‘The western areas of our Diocese present us with one of our greatest challenges,’ Jensen said during his sermon at Lee’s consecration in December. ‘Here is modern Australia in microcosm. We can have no excuses: we must rise to the missionary challenge; to fail here will be to become a sectional, marginal church for an ever diminishing inner group.’15 Far more controversial were the appointments to key positions made among Jensen’s own family. These included his son Michael— who had been made chaplain at St Andrew’s Cathedral School a year before Jensen’s election as Archbishop—to the staff of Moore College in November 2002 in what the Sydney Morning Herald claimed was a ‘rubber-stamp’ decision by the college council, of which 134
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Peter Jensen was president.16 More widely criticised was the appointment a month earlier of Jensen’s wife Christine to a new team overseeing women’s ministry in Sydney. Although Mrs Jensen’s appointment had been requested by Archdeacon Narelle Jarrett, principal of the Diocese’s theological school for women (Mary Andrews College), and only approved by the Archbishop on condition that his wife not be paid, the decision was branded as wrong-headed by the Rev. John Cornish of Anglicans Together. ‘There are scores of highly skilled and talented women in the Sydney Diocese,’ Cornish said. ‘Surely a more appropriate choice could have been made.’ Among the other women appointed to the team were Lesley Ramsay who, like Christine Jensen, was a member of the antiwomen’s ordination group Equal But Different, and Jane Tooher, head of women’s ministry at the staunchly conservative evangelical parish of St Matthias, Centennial Park.17 Adding fuel to the controversy over the appointment of the new women’s ministry team were two unrelated issues. One was the defection of Archdeacon Di Nicolios—Sydney’s first woman archdeacon and for years the head of its women’s ministry—from the Diocese only a few months earlier. Nicolios had never publicly challenged Sydney’s position against the ordination of women priests and the doctrine that women are prevented by scripture from exercising authority over men in parish life. In May, however, she abruptly announced that she was moving to Melbourne to be ordained a priest and take up the position of vicar at St John’s, Diamond Creek.18 The other issue was a report that appeared on the Anglicans Together website in August, alleging that in a confidential meeting between Jensen and members of the Movement for the Ordination of Women, the Archbishop had said that he intended to stop women preaching in the diocese and would discourage them from entering the diaconate. A spokeswoman for the Archbishop labelled the article ‘inaccurate’ and said that he would be seeking a retraction. Anglicans Together eventually apologised for any misunderstanding the report may have caused and did post a retraction. But the author of the article stood by it.19 135
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On the face of it, both issues appeared to hammer a final nail in the coffin of the push for women’s ordination in Sydney, but Ken Handley disagrees. ‘The issue is a sleeper,’ he says. ‘It does require some obvious leader but sooner or later it will re-emerge.’ It was the appointment of Phillip Jensen as Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral that caused the most immediate contention. As his rejoinder to Archbishop Carnley’s Bulletin article in April 2000 had shown (dismissing the Primate’s views as ‘flawed historically, biblically, theologically, ecclesiastically and evangelically’), Phillip had lost none of the fire and brimstone conviction that had made him such a controversial candidate for Archbishop of Sydney in 1993. Writing in The Briefing in August 2000, he continued to insist that only a ‘very small minority’ of Australians were ‘real’ members of the Kingdom of God who would be brought to salvation on the Last Day. This situation, he argued, would never be rectified by the denominational churches because they were full of ‘heretics and false teachers’ who clung to outmoded institutional cultures. While the younger Jensen was prepared to work with others to spread the gospel, he would only do it on his uncompromising terms: Am I saying that we should leave the denominations? No, of course not. Why should we leave because in some places unbelievers have taken temporary possession of the property that was left by our forefathers for the preaching of the gospel? No, let them leave—but I have never yet seen a good reason to leave. Am I saying that we should split the church and move into schism? No, of course not. That is just the scaremongering of those who are afraid of being forced out for possessing the form of godliness while denying its power. Am I suggesting that we do not work in fellowship with others who love the Lord Jesus and wish to preach the gospel also? No, of course not. This is another fear tactic from people who are feeling their own kingdom being threatened. They should be rejoicing that more people are coming into Christ’s kingdom. I am suggesting that the future of evangelicalism in relation to the 136
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denominational churches lies in direct evangelistic church planting. It may happen inside or outside the denominations. We need just to get on with it, wherever the gospel is welcome. The future of evangelicalism lies in brave hearts who will take action and not be constrained by the traditions of men—the lines that men have drawn on the ground, the rules that men have made about who conducts church how, when, where and by whose authority. 20
In a parish rector and university chaplain such an iron-willed dedication might have been admirable. But in the Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral—chief minister of the main church in the Diocese—it raised all sorts of divisive possibilities. One of these involves a question of style. Phillip Jensen, argues John Cornish, represents ‘a style which is not Cathedral style, which is not Anglican. It’s Centennial Park style, and he has a Puritan instinct: there’s no beauty in anything, whether it’s vestments or music or art’. Despite such criticisms and reservations, Phillip’s appointment was announced in October 2002. He had been nominated to the Cathedral Chapter by Peter Jensen and approved in a secret ballot among its 24 members by what the diocesan media called an ‘overwhelming supportive vote’ although no breakdown of the figures was provided.21 According to one Chapter member, the appointment was meant to re-fashion the position of Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral into the ‘moral conscience’ of the city.22 It was also seen as seminal to the success of the diocesan mission. Phillip Jensen would remain chaplain to the University of New South Wales and the University’s seven congregations would become ‘recognised’ churches within the Diocese under the new Dean’s supervision. He would take a seat on the governing council of St Andrew’s Cathedral School. More than anything, however, along with his appointment as Dean, Phillip was also given responsibility for the new position of Director of Ministry Training and Development within the Diocese, carrying with it a key budgetary allocation. To that end he said he hoped to turn the Cathedral into ‘the training 137
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centre of the Diocese [and make it] the place where leadership is given in evangelism and church planting’.23 The outcry against the appointment was immediate. One longtime St Andrew’s parishioner described it as ‘absolutely medieval’ and vowed he would never return to the Cathedral.24 Among the personnel engaged in the work of the Cathedral there was ‘anger, puzzlement and bemusement’ over Phillip’s appointment, according to the Cathedral organist and Master of Choristers, Michael Deasey. ‘We were made to think we were having some say in [the appointment] and it turned out we didn’t.’ In an open letter to the Archbishop, the retired rector of Chester Hill parish, John Bunyan, criticised the appointment along with what he claimed was ‘evidence of increasing intolerance’ in the Church and what he said were attempts by the Anglican Church League ‘to maintain and increase its dominance of this Diocese’.25 Even The Australian chimed in, in an editorial in which it said that Phillip Jensen’s appointment ‘could lead to allegations of cronyism, which would be both to the brothers’ eventual detriment as well as that of the church’. Acknowledging Phillip Jensen’s skills as a pastor and preacher, the newspaper nonetheless concluded that it was ‘very unwise to reward them personally and then expect ordinary people to listen to [the Jensen brothers] talk of justice’.26 The Jensens and their supporters rejected any suggestion of nepotism. There was no monetary advantage in these appointments, Peter Jensen told ABC Radio, and we ‘must not allow the fact that people have the same surname to prevent them from doing the job that we believe is right’.27 The personal closeness of the brothers— they and their families are said to have met socially at least weekly for many years—apparently did not strike either as an obstacle to the appointment. Phillip himself argued that the move was not entirely welcome. ‘From a career point of view, I was freer to do what I want at St Matthias,’ he told Southern Cross.28 Writing in the same newspaper, Jeremy Halcrow criticised media coverage of the appointments, arguing, for instance, that Phillip was made Dean only after ‘an exhaustive, year-long search’ for a suitable candidate.29 To the likes of Bishop Robert Forsyth, Phillip was a ‘passionate, 138
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brilliant man’ whose appointment ‘marks the dawn of a wonderful era for the Cathedral’.30 Still, the sense grew in some quarters that a St Matthias–Moore College mafia had taken over. Other significant appointments during this time included the Rev. Al Stewart, an assistant minister at St Matthias, who was made chief executive officer of Anglican Youthworks, and Deryck Howell, also an assistant minister at St Matthias, who became archdeacon of South Sydney region under Robert Forsyth. Archbishop Jensen, argues Michael Horsburgh, is ‘a person who only has around him advisers who in his view he can trust—which actually means advisers who share his opinions, his positions’. Possibly the most outstanding evidence for this claim was the appointment of one of the major supporters behind Jensen’s run for Archbishop, the Rev. John Woodhouse of Christ Church, St Ives, to replace him as principal of Moore College in March 2002. The appointment did not go smoothly. According to Church insiders, there was a feeling among the trustees of the college (which still included the former Archbishop, Harry Goodhew) that Woodhouse represented too narrow an interpretation of Anglicanism and would be a divisive principal. But Jensen stuck to his guns and the trustees eventually backed down. Woodhouse had worked closely with Jensen at Moore College, having been appointed a full-time member of the Faculty after his return from doctoral studies in Britain in 1981. (His first degree was in geology; his doctorate, which he describes as a ‘600-page footnote’, was a study in semantics as applied to Hebrew poetry in the Psalms.) He had been an outspoken supporter of key planks of the conservative evangelical platform in Sydney throughout the 1990s, and more recently had become chair of the Diocesan Doctrine Commission. In Woodhouse, Jensen had an ally with whom he could see eye to eye on most issues—something that has not always been true of the relationship between the Archbishop and the principal of Moore College. ‘Peter is a more conservative person, I think,’ says Woodhouse. ‘He is a theologian and an historian and he has a deep sense of history. I am not a theologian of his calibre and I don’t have his deep sense of 139
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history … He values institutions perhaps more than I do. But in terms of theology and what we’re on about I don’t think I know anyone I’m closer to.’ Complementing this change in leadership was the decision in May 2003 by Standing Committee (by a vote of 32–10) to extend the retirement age of Archbishop Jensen from 65 to 70 years. On the one hand, the decision brought the retirement age of Sydney’s leading cleric into line with that of other dioceses around the country. But it also reversed a decision taken only ten years earlier, on the eve of Harry Goodhew’s election. Jensen insisted the idea didn’t come from him but rather from a committee of senior clergy who felt it was appropriate that he be allowed to lead the diocese through the ten-year life-span of the mission. But that didn’t satisfy the critics. ‘I think it’s appalling,’ said Anglicans Together’s John Cornish. ‘They restricted the time of appointment of the previous Archbishop [and] now they’re reversing [that decision] to complete their agenda.’31 Writing in the Sydney Morning Herald in May, the rector of St Mark’s, Granville, the Rev. James McPherson, argued that the decision was premature. Jensen, he pointed out, had served less than two years in office, and the suggestion of extending his term should have awaited a longer period in which his performance could have been better evaluated. But the central issue, McPherson argued, was one of process. While Standing Committee was within its rights to extend the Archbishop’s term, ‘many will feel the committee was morally and spiritually obliged to refer the matter to the Synod later in Jensen’s episcopate’. After all, he had been elected on the understanding that he would retire at 65 years of age; to change that now by a decision of a small but powerful group smacked of a ‘defective process’.32 Writing on the same page two days later, Bruce Ballantine-Jones rejected this criticism. ‘No one seriously doubts that had the matter been referred to the Synod that it would have warmly supported him,’ Ballantine-Jones argued. He added that the reason it was not put to a general meeting was that such a move would have exposed Jensen and the Diocese to ‘hostile media and sectional opposition’.33 Given that was the result of the news of the extension anyhow, this argument was hardly convincing. But the 140
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decision stood, with the result that Jensen’s leadership as Archbishop of Sydney had been secured until 2013. This consolidation at the top, despite its opponents’ criticisms and concerns, seemed to be generally welcomed among the Sydney faithful. John Woodhouse offers one explanation as to why: ‘The issues over which we squabble have to do with why we exist. We are not just a political group in society. We care about our society but we care about the teaching of the Bible, we care about our churches. The difference when Peter [Jensen] has come along [is] I think he’s gone to the heartland of what we’re on about and said “Let’s take this gospel we believe in our heart to the nation; let’s work out how to do that; let’s put everything to one side and be united on our core business”.’ Ballantine-Jones offers a slightly different interpretation. The Sydney Diocese, he says, ‘is like a state within a state and the nearest analogy is the American Constitution. You think about it: President— Archbishop; Congress—Synod; President’s Cabinet has to be approved by Congress in one form or another; Archbishop’s hierarchy has to be approved by the Synod or the Standing Committee in one form or another; in the American system money and law are controlled by the Congress; in our system money and law [are] controlled by the Synod. People who equate it with the Westminster system are up the wrong path. So, therefore, an Archbishop, if he does not control the Standing Committee or have the full confidence of the Synod, is always going to be up against it.’ As far as Peter Jensen is concerned, Ballantine-Jones continues, ‘he’s got the Standing Committee because of the ACL’s support in the Synod. He’s got the Synod on side because of his own charisma and power of personality. So for the first time since Mowll we have an Archbishop with a great agenda and, like a President with the Congress on side, the Synod on side.’ According to Robert Forsyth, a parallel shift in the mood of the Diocese has occurred as well. ‘It’s more confident,’ he says. ‘There’s a greater sense of unity. We’ve got an alignment of power and position today we didn’t have in the 90s.’ If so, it was an alignment that was coming under increasing media scrutiny and, in the process, raising questions about the fairness of the 141
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coverage. In a December 2002 column in Southern Cross, for instance, Jeremy Halcrow wrote that many Sydney Anglicans ‘feel their beloved Archbishop is being persecuted by the media. They see claims of “nepotism” as scurrilous untruths designed to undermine the gospel’s credibility. This view has justification’.34 Indeed, while few senior Anglican figures in Sydney are prepared to say so publicly, there is a perception among them that the Sydney Morning Herald in particular is ‘out to get them’—and especially so since the election of Peter Jensen as Archbishop. Privately they complain of inaccuracies in reports, criticise beat-ups which they claim are merely publicising the views of a small, disgruntled minority, and wonder whether there is an agenda at work to paint them and their views in the worst possible light. Kelly Burke, who was the Herald’s religious affairs writer from 2001 until 2003, dismisses these suggestions outright. After the 2001 archbishop election, she explains, a decision was taken by the paper to re-appoint a religious affairs writer after a break of eighteen months. Jensen was a controversial figure who was likely to attract widespread attention beyond Sydney church circles, but that same year another such controversial appointment had been made in George Pell as Catholic Archbishop of Sydney, while the alarm generated over asylum seekers—many of whom were Muslim—also meant that Islam was coming under unprecedented scrutiny in public debate. ‘So yes, from the moment of Jensen’s election in June 2001, when a designated Herald reporter began covering religious issues, the heat was turned up on Sydney Anglicanism. But no more so than [on] other religions and denominations undergoing renewal, upheaval or change,’ says Burke. Another changed dynamic, and one likely to involve more media attention than usual, was the fact that conservative evangelicals generally now held leadership positions throughout the Diocese of Sydney. ‘We’ve changed from the opposition benches, which we’d occupied for a very long time, to the government benches,’ comments Robert Tong. Curiosity, as much as the inevitable impact of the policy changes the new leadership was pursuing, aroused public interest. Burke rejects any claim about an agenda operating within the Sydney Morning Herald’s coverage of the Diocese. ‘One only has to look at the 142
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amount of high-level confidential information leaked to the Herald during the 2001–03 period to know that the paper was hardly basing its stories solely on the gripes of a few dissatisfied powerless sources operating on the margins of Sydney Anglicanism.’ In the face of continuing damaging leaks, the ‘no comments’ from some senior Sydney church figures, however, became more frequent. ‘All journalists have a duty to strive for balance in their work,’ Burke acknowledges, ‘but when only one side is communicating, achieving that balance becomes a real challenge.’ Moreover, she adds, with the exception of Peter Jensen, who openly courts the media, there appears to be an assumption in certain Sydney Anglican quarters that the secular press has no right to report on the church’s activities at all, because it does not adopt a Christian perspective as its starting point: That’s like John Howard ruling that only card-carrying members of the Liberal party are qualified enough to sit in the Canberra press gallery. There appears to be this inability to comprehend, for example, that most Herald readers who haven’t had the benefit of a Moore College education will invariably find the Jensen concept of ‘headship’—reserved for males only, even within the family sphere— laughable, if not downright offensive. After studying countless letters, emails and chat room websites criticising the Herald’s coverage of Sydney Anglicanism (no other denomination or religion appears to hold this Herald-specific persecution complex), I’ve concluded that there is an astounding level of ignorance among Sydney evangelical Anglicans over the functions and responsibilities of the secular media in Australia.35
Phillip Jensen has a particularly testy relationship with the media, once arguing that ‘many journalists who write about religion come from an atheistic, secularist, agnostic background’. What evidence Jensen had for this claim is unclear. Certainly studies in the United States have shown that secular newsrooms are anything but hotbeds of atheists. A study undertaken by Vanderbilt University’s Freedom Forum First Amendment Centre in 1993, for instance, found no evidence of any pronounced anti-religious sentiment among the vast majority of 143
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American journalists and that most journalists and editors surveyed said religion was important in their lives. It is not the case, Jensen continued in this particular critique of the media, that journalists are ‘evil people’ but that, to the media, ‘religion itself is just a matter of opinion’ and so journalists are ‘writing in a framework that is hostile to Christianity’.36 Ironically, newspapers such as the Sydney Morning Herald endorse the Christian faith year after year in their Easter and Christmas editorials. It is true they neither proselytise nor endorse any one version of the Christian faith, but to suggest that they should do either is to fail to understand the role of the secular media and their responsibilities to a broad general audience. What Phillip Jensen’s comments demonstrate is the cultural divide between many church leaders, who insist the media apply different rules to the coverage of religious affairs, and the media, which believes nothing is sacred when it comes to the public’s right to know. To a large extent, perceptions (and even many legitimate complaints) of unfair coverage can be traced to the distrust that operates on both sides as a result.
Onward Christian soldiers Away from the media spotlight, efforts were underway to devise detailed tactics to exploit the new alignment of position and power in ways that would bring the mission strategy to fruition. There were four main challenges: to reach the unchurched, to bring like-minded churches within the mission umbrella, to re-enthuse nominal Anglicans whose church attendance had dropped off with a new passion for the faith, and to ensure compliance among existing congregations and Diocesan institutions with the scriptural interpretations and mission priorities of conservative evangelicals. Though centrally directed and inspired, many of these efforts were devolved to local parishes, organisations and even individual believers. ‘We have sold this vision [of mobilising 10 per cent of the population of Sydney] to our churches, and many are gearing up to do something about it,’ Jensen told the ABC’s Religion Report in December 2002. ‘You see, a 144
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church which sits in a suburb of 30 000 say, then has to think to itself, “Well, we’re talking 3000 people here. Now that must make a big difference to us.” ’ Intimacy and a focus on the basic message without the accoutrements of institutional religion were seen as keys to success. ‘We’re not talking mega-churches, either,’ Jensen continued. ‘I mean we might have some mega-churches [but] what we’re talking about are small fellowship groups of people, because I think that will be the way in which we reach out to people. Many of these fellowship groups may not even be conscious of belonging to something called the Anglican Church.’37 One approach commended to those engaged in missionary outreach drew on the ‘homogenous unit principle’. Essentially, the idea was that people would best be attracted to groups comprising of others of like background, age and experience. The approach was criticised by some Anglicans as akin to segregating believers into self-selecting associations where they would develop a kind of monochrome approach to the Bible, and the ways in which it should be applied to everyday life, as distinct from integrating them into the larger and more diverse community of the faithful. The lack of emphasis often given to the corporate identity of Anglicanism could also encourage a disconnection with the broader traditions and culture of the Church. Another weakness of the approach was that some people were bound to join more than one particular group, making numerical calculations of the success of the mission harder to arrive at with any accuracy and so in all probability exaggerated. Those expressing these criticisms and concerns, however, appeared to be in the minority. A mere 7 per cent of synod members, for instance, were in this camp, according to a survey distributed at the October 2001 meeting. A small number were vocal in their opposition. ‘You have to be exactly as these people want you to be; you have to perform in certain ways,’ is how John Cornish explains his lack of enthusiasm for the mission, for example. Still, the small number of people who might express such reservations of itself did not make their hesitation any less valid. Jensen acknowledged this but saw the expressions of dissent as no reason to be distracted from the main agenda.38 145
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In his regular ‘Archbishop writes’ column in Southern Cross, for instance, Jensen continued to offer suggestions about how the success of the mission might be advanced, and to draw attention to specific local initiatives that appeared to be producing results. But this kind of micro-attention to tactics was less important than the intellectual promotion he gave to the overall strategy. Six months after Sydney Synod had formally embraced the mission in October 2001, Jensen delivered a major address in the Halifax-Portal Lecture Series sponsored by the Anglican and Catholic bishops of New South Wales. Mincing no words, he presented a hard-hitting analysis of the failure of confidence within the Christian church. ‘No-one in their wildest imaginings would say that the churches are in the forefront of intellectual endeavour; that the theologians are worth consulting on matters of great significance; that there is in each of our great cities at least one powerful and persuasive pulpit voice able to command attention; that there is a powerful and persuasive Christian world view being promoted, even as an alternative,’ he said. Jensen suggested that the result was intellectual and spiritual crises for the churches and, more importantly, for the faith. But beyond both there was also a ‘cultural disaster’ looming for the nation. ‘We have become just the sort of Christian movement which you would want to have if you never wanted to be troubled by it, if you wanted to control it,’ he said. If the trend continued, the churches would make no contribution to society beyond their limited role as providers of social welfare and education. Jensen blamed a fear within the churches themselves that if they forcefully articulated a strong gospel message they would be met with derision: We have courted popularity; we have not been prepared to suffer the scorn of those who can use the pages of the newspaper to pillory us. Even when we have adopted a profoundly Christian stance on some issue, we have not explained it is an application of the word of God. We have even fallen into the trap of justifying our moral stances by a secularist theory of ethics. We have contributed towards the gagging of God. 146
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What is truly alarming is that we are not alarmed. We have accepted the secular world’s view that we have nothing of importance to say, and we have adjusted ourselves to this reality. We have become domesticated.39
Jensen’s analysis of the situation facing the churches drew more attention and debate than his remedy. But it was the remedy that went to the heart of his mission strategy and to the real revolution he intended to bring about through that mission to the Church in Sydney and beyond: I regard the main locus of the church as the local congregation rather than the denomination. It is perfectly true, therefore, that I regard the real fulfilment of the topic to be worked out in the suburban churches of our nation rather than in denominational head offices. It is perfectly true, furthermore, that I have my doubts and hesitations about the usefulness and the truthfulness of much that passes for political, social and economic commentary by ecclesiastics. But I hope it is clear by now that my priority lies with the word of God as our chief and enduring obligation for two main reasons: first, because it is in fact the indispensable source of all the good that we may do in the community. It is the gospel of Jesus which makes the Christians who will do the good works that will glorify God and prove to be a blessing to this nation. But to promote the gospel of Jesus requires that we speak the truth in love.
The Anglican Archbishop of Sydney, in other words, seemed to be proclaiming the days of denominationalism over. Henceforth the Bible—or rather, one way of interpreting it—would alone distinguish, inform and direct the Christian faithful. One practical manifestation of this shift in thinking was already apparent: by October 2002, across the diocese 30 Anglican churches were allowing non-Anglican congregations to hold services and study groups on their premises.40 (Rather belatedly, Standing Committee two months later requested that an ordinance be prepared for consideration that would allow a group from another denomination to hold ‘occasional service’ in a licensed 147
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Anglican church as long as the arrangement had the approval of the parish council, minister and regional bishop.) But not just any nonAnglican congregation. Jensen had described a Bible-believing church as one that was Bible-based, which in turn he described as a church where ‘the Bible take[s] precedence over church tradition, human reason and Christian experience’.41 While that was still a vague definition it seemed clearly to exclude Catholics, who were held to have at best pushed the Bible to a marginal role in the life of their church and instead submitted themselves to the authority of the Pope; possibly some more liberal members of the Uniting, Baptist and Lutheran churches, and arguably Anglo-Catholics and liberal Anglicans who were seen to have insufficiently embraced the principles of the Reformation, or else to have deviated from them. ‘[Bible-based] is a phrase which both delineates and invites,’ explains Jensen. ‘It invites all Anglicans to associate themselves with it—so I’m hoping that the non-evangelical churches in this Diocese will say “Well, we may not be evangelical but we are Bible-based because Anglicanism is Bible-based” and I’m happy that they see themselves in that. It also goes beyond Anglicanism, so it incorporates others as well. They’re churches of the Protestant Reformation. The Protestant Reformation is a Bible-based reformation. So it can’t include the Roman Catholic Church. That’s not what I mean. I know the Roman Catholic Church has an immense respect for the Bible but I’m not talking about [Roman Catholics], I’m talking about those churches who associate themselves with the Protestant Reformation.’ Would that include people who, unlike Jensen, read the Bible literally, who, say, believe that the Genesis story of how God created the world in seven days is to be read as literally true? ‘Yes. Likewise someone who read it and who believed in evolution.’ In summary, the new free market in Christian loyalties is anything but entirely laissez-faire. Nowhere was this more evident than in the attempt to impose tests of Biblical orthodoxy upon Anglican schools. This issue first came to wide public attention toward the end of 1998 with a long feature by David Marr in the Sydney Morning Herald alleging that radical evangelicals 148
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within the Diocese were determined to impose their control over the Church’s educational system. A few weeks earlier, Phillip Jensen had managed to persuade Standing Committee to embrace proposals to transform the schools owned by the Church from ‘semi-Christian’ to ‘Christian’—to whit, in Jensen’s words, they would be guaranteed to have ‘a Christian council that will appoint a Christian principal who will engage Christian teachers and so establish a Christian ethos in the schools’. If the full Synod accepted these proposals, they would directly impact not only on the old established Anglican schools— SCEGGS, Abbotsleigh, King’s, Barker, Shore, Tara, Trinity, St Catherine’s and St Andrew’s—but also on the dozen or so new lowfee paying schools planned to be built in the outer suburbs of Sydney. Such an outcome, in turn, would put pressure on the ‘associated’ Anglican schools—Cranbrook, Kambala, Meriden, Blue Mountains Grammar and Mosman Prep—to bring their ethos more into line with the synod owned and controlled schools. As Marr reported, the then Archbishop, Harry Goodhew, was far from enthusiastic about the prospect. ‘As the Archbishop of the Diocese I would like to see, by whatever means are possible, the schools pursuing academic excellence under the guidance of warm-hearted, clear-headed, Christian educators.’ But to his mind Christian educators and Christian evangelists were not always the same thing. He told the Sydney Morning Herald that he had ‘never seen any statistics that might suggest in any way at all’ that employing only Christians in a school produced more committed Christians among students, whereas he had ‘heard some people express the view that a few staff members who don’t necessarily dot the “i”s and cross the “t”s keep the rest of the staff honest’. Moreover, he believed that even in a Christian school learning should take priority. As he later explained: ‘There was a movement in Standing Committee to make sure that all the members of a school council were very keen, active Christians and that caused a lot of concern. I felt that that was overdone. It had an adverse reaction in the schools among parents. [I felt] that there was a much better way of making sure you had sufficient members on a school council to ensure that when it came to the selection of a headmaster or 149
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headmistress you would get someone who would uphold the general approach of Sydney towards religious life [but] in a way that was not oppressive and allowed children to make choices for themselves.’ Still, Goodhew made it clear at the time that this was not an issue on which he was prepared to exercise a veto if Synod chose to accept Phillip Jensen’s plans for a radical Christianisation of the schools.42 By then, however, Goodhew’s ability to resist the demands of conservative evangelicals in the Synod by force of argument alone had long dissipated. By April 2000, reports were surfacing that senior staff in Anglican schools were being required to show evidence that they subscribed to, practised and promoted the faith as evangelicals interpreted it.43 Three years later, school principals contacted by the Sydney Morning Herald were reluctant to speak openly about how the new evangelical orthodoxy impacted on their schools, although one admitted that there was ‘pressure to “Christianise” school boards, school leadership and school teaching’.44 Seven months later, the issue blew out into the open when the actions of the principal of Shoalhaven Anglican School to foster a stronger Christian ethos in a long-day care centre recently acquired by the school led to the dismissal of the centre’s director. This culminated in resignations, law suits, the withdrawal of nearly one-third of the children from the centre, and protests about the imposed orthodoxy. The trouble had begun when the principal required from staff of the formerly secular centre a commitment to ‘express the Christian faith through every program and activity’. This included an affirmation that the scriptures hold the fundamental truths of the Christian faith, and that workers accept the New Testament accounts of the virgin birth, the death and resurrection of Jesus, and the certainty of his second coming.45 It was a clumsy, even ham-fisted approach that was unlikely to be repeated. But it was also one approach in response to the more general pressure Anglican educationalists were coming under on this issue. ‘There is a sense of a much sharper definition about what it means to be a Christian than there was four years ago,’ says John Cornish, ‘and it’s getting sharper.’ 150
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Indeed, in August 2003, the chief executive officer of the Sydney Anglican Schools Corporation (SASC), Laurie Scandrett, gave a presentation to a national Anglican schools conference in Brisbane in which he emphasised that even school council members must be ‘of Christian faith and character’ and also ‘regular church attenders’ who are ‘willing to uphold the teaching syllabus and activities within the school in accordance with the fundamental declarations and ruling principles of the Anglican Church of Australia’. He reminded his audience that a fundamental declaration of the church is that it ‘receives all the canonical scriptures of the Old and New Testaments as being the ultimate rule and standard of faith given by inspiration of God and containing all things necessary for salvation’. Scandrett went on to say that school boards must appoint principals who are ‘committed to and capable of furthering allegiance to Jesus Christ as Lord and the cause of Christian education in the schools as church schools’. Whether this letter of the law approach—and the reach to which it would be extended— also represented new faith tests is arguable, but it did generate much debate among the delegates to the conference. Scandrett also reported that the SASC had enrolled 7500 students in twelve schools in 2003 and had plans to increase that number to around 11 000 in sixteen schools adhering to the principles he had set out in his presentation by 2006.46 Moore College has likewise been called upon to play a vital role in the new evangelism as the training ground for Christian leaders both inside and outside the Diocese. ‘What Moore College is on about in terms of Christian ministry is what the whole diocese is on about enthusiastically and energetically now,’ says its principal, John Woodhouse. In 2002, the college graduated 75 students, but less than 30 of them for ordination. But in 2004, it had more than 100 ordination candidates out of a total of 300 students at various stages of study and there are plans to double the size of the college during the life of the mission. To have 600 students within ten years is probably wishful thinking, Woodhouse concedes. ‘But the 600 is certainly what we’re working towards.’ 151
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A lesser priority: social engagement Peter Jensen had said quite clearly, and emphatically, during the ABC Religion Report interview a week after his election, that he believed the chief role and function of a bishop was to be a ‘preacher of God’s word and the administrator of God’s sacraments’. To judge his performance on criteria other than those he set himself, therefore, could be seen as somewhat unfair. But in the same interview, he also said that what ‘really interested’ him was ‘the good health of the Commonwealth of Australia, and its future as a nation’.47 It was reasonable to assume that this interest would express itself in the Archbishop’s active involvement in major public policy debates and also in his encouragement of Anglicans in Sydney to do likewise on the basis of principles supplied by their faith. After all, other church leaders have seen it as their duty to provide a degree of moral guidance on political and social issues, champion the interests of their constituents in the areas of education, health, aged care and welfare, and rally the faithful in pursuit of justice generally. Indeed, in his first presidential address to the Sydney Synod in October 2001, Jensen gave some encouragement to that view when he mentioned in passing that the general community had a tendency to reward politicians and political parties ‘who reflect some of the worst features of our national life, not least our selfishness and lack of generosity to those in need’. He again drew attention to the bipartisan hardline policy toward people arriving by boat in search of asylum which, he said, ‘is not something of which we should be proud’.48 The following month, Jensen spoke at a gathering of 200 religious and political leaders in the NSW Parliament. This was designed to ease tensions in the community generated by the terrorist attacks of September 11 on New York and Washington, the subsequent US-led war against terrorism in Afghanistan and the local debate on asylum seekers. Earlier, during the pre-2001 federal election controversy surrounding the government’s decision to prevent the Norwegian container ship MV Tampa—which had rescued about 450 mostly Afghan asylum 152
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seekers at sea—from unloading its human cargo on Christmas Island, Jensen had told ABC Radio that ‘the government must act compassionately’ because ‘human beings are suffering [and] we have to put people first’. But Jensen’s contributions to this debate lacked the bite of those of other leading church men and women. Baptist Union president Tim Costello, for instance, accused both major parties of encouraging ‘an implicit racism’ that the nation would find hard to remove from public perceptions over time. The Melbourne Synod called for a royal commission into the whole refugee policy.49 The Catholic Auxiliary Bishop of Canberra–Goulburn, Pat Power, even went so far as to lend his support to protesters at an Easter 2002 rally at the Woomera detention centre, where fences were pulled down and detainees helped to abscond. The protesters’ actions, said Power, drew attention to a cruel policy and sometimes such acts of conscientious objection were not only warranted but ‘even morally required’.50 The previous November, Archbishop Carnley issued a lengthy media statement calling on the Howard government for an ‘urgent rethink’ on seven key national issues. These were the government’s response to terrorism, its treatment of asylum seekers, its policies on health care, education funding, unemployment, public housing and Aboriginal reconciliation. The statement was co-signed by the archbishops of Adelaide and Brisbane, and the bishops of Tasmania, Canberra and Goulburn, the Northern Territory and twelve other dioceses and regions. The initiative was prompted by what Carnley and the other bishops agreed was their ‘deep concern about divisions within the Australian community, which have been exacerbated during the election campaign’.51 The statement amounted to nothing less than a call for the moral rejuvenation of Australian national politics and public policy. But Archbishop Jensen—along with his assistant bishops, the Archbishop of Melbourne and several other diocesan bishops (many of whom were on leave or overseas at the time)—refused to sign the statement. This had the effect of creating the impression that Anglican ranks were divided about the government’s handling of these issues and thus seriously undermined the impact of the statement. Jensen 153
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explained that he had not been adequately consulted over the document, and that he believed some of its content was outdated, inaccurate and spread too thinly. The Sydney Morning Herald reported a suggestion that Jensen’s main objection was the statement’s secular tone. According to one unnamed source, the lack of references to God, Jesus and salvation gave the impression that the statement had been drafted ‘by nothing more than a bunch of socially concerned citizens’.52 Certainly that suggestion echoes a sentiment Jensen subsequently expressed about the intervention of church leaders in public policy debate generally: ‘I am suspicious of much of what passes for Christian commentary on social matters because it sounds to me simply like socialism baptised and I’m not sure I’m willing to go down that track.’ But whatever reason Jensen had for disassociating himself from the Carnley letter to Howard, here was a missed opportunity to present a united church front in addressing some of the ‘worst features of our national life’, as Jensen himself had put it only a month earlier. In the final analysis, it seems, Jensen preferred ‘purity’ of teaching to unity in the cause of social justice. Jensen was more forthright in his opposition to proposed legislation that would permit the use for research purposes of surplus embryos from in vitro fertilisation programs. The proposal emerged from a detailed federal government inquiry into the scientific and ethical aspects of human cloning and stem cell research, which released its report in September 2001. A majority of the members on the inquiry had supported stem cell research in limited circumstances, prompting a public debate ahead of a legislative showdown on the issue in which some scientists, medical researchers, people affected by injury or disease, and prominent politicians including NSW Premier Bob Carr urged an even more permissive research regime. Jensen held a meeting with the Prime Minister over the issue in April 2002, expressing his disappointment that Howard was not proposing to ban embryonic stem cell research outright, but relief that he had decided to ban human therapeutic cloning, did support strict regulation of the use of unwanted embryos, and would allow a conscience vote on the issue in Parliament.53 Jensen also said after the 154
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meeting that he would campaign over the issue with members of parliament in the lead-up to the vote, urging them to take a conservative line. In June he prepared a paper for Synod’s Social Issues Committee in which he argued that the full ramifications of embryonic stem cell research were not yet appreciated by the public. ‘You may well need to be ahead of the public on this point,’ he wrote. ‘But the crucial element remains the status of the human life that is being commercialised and then destroyed by these procedures.’54 He revisited the issue again in a public address in Sydney at which other speakers included a member of US President George Bush’s Council on Bioethics, Professor William Hurlbut, the Deputy Prime Minister, John Anderson, and Sydney’s Catholic Archbishop, George Pell. Jensen told his audience: It is immensely heartening that a debate of this nature is occurring and that Australians are not simply leaving it to scientists and politicians to make the policy. But let us be very clear about the nature of the debate, its connection with other major ethical issues and the sure fact that it will be only one of a number of such encounters that we are bound to have. I say again, at stake here in these other disputes, is the issue of what sort of community we are and what sort we ought to be. At stake, too, are our individual souls, as we make choices for which we are accountable.55
In September, Jensen appeared before a Senate inquiry to argue against the Research on Human Embryos Bill days before it was to be voted on—successfully as it turned out—in the House of Representatives. When the Bill was passed by the Senate in December—allowing limited research on surplus IVF embryos created before 5 April 2002—he called on assisted reproductive technology centres around Australia to develop the means to freeze sperm and eggs separately to avoid a stockpiling of future embryos.56 To Jensen, hardly alone among religious leaders, the issue of using human embryos for research purposes was at the centre of a debate about the cultural regard for the sanctity of human life. Arguably, so too was the government’s approach to border protection and to those 155
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asylum seekers—and particularly their children—who made it to Australian shores only to be isolated and detained for long periods at places such as Woomera. But that issue had not drawn from Jensen anything like the same kind of sustained resistance that stem cell research on embryos had drawn. The same was true of Jensen’s response to the life and death issue of whether the Howard government should commit Australian troops to a US-led war in Iraq. As this discussion divided public opinion, Jensen weighed in with an article in the Sydney Morning Herald in February 2003. ‘No rightthinking person could ever desire war,’ Jensen began, pointing out not only its destructive potential but its dehumanising effect. ‘But the question must be asked: is there a case in which biblical principles of [a] “just war” can be applied?’ After discussing the pros and cons of a war in Iraq according to these principles, Jensen called for prayer for those who would ultimately have to make the decision. ‘They must know that we expect them to act with compassion, justice and wisdom,’ he wrote. ‘In this case we should be patient, waiting for clearer evidence that our Government is acting justly and with the support of the [United Nations].’57 It was a cautious position and one Jensen himself subsequently admitted was ‘not sharp’ enough in the circumstances. ‘I’m rethinking the whole issue of my approach to such matters,’ he has said. ‘I won’t go so far as to say I’m sorry I didn’t come out strongly against the war. One of the reasons which holds me back is that I think sometimes our people come out very strongly against something simply because the government’s for it.’ There was no such hesitation on the part of other church leaders over the war and Australia’s involvement in it. The previous November, for example, the Catholic Bishops’ Conference had issued a statement pointing out that war would inflict nothing less than a ‘human catastrophe’ on the Iraqi people and urging restraint. In January, the president of the Uniting Church in Australia, the Rev. James Haire, declared that ‘another war led by the so-called “Christian West” will only add a new layer of enmity in the Middle East, producing another 50 years of instability and death’. A week before Jensen’s article appeared, the Rev. Ray Richmond of the Wayside Chapel told an anti-war rally in Sydney that 156
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the Christian churches were united with ‘one voice of condemnation’ against the war.58 Five weeks later, as Canberra seemed committed to following the US lead even without specific authorisation from the UN Security Council, Jensen gave an interview on the subject to ABC Radio’s World Today program. While he said he remained unconvinced by the evidence of the necessity of military action and so ‘can’t really extend the self-defence doctrine [of just war theory] as far as the government seems to think we can in this case’, he continued to be cautious. ‘I honour our government and the government has made decisions on our behalf,’ he said. ‘We may or may not agree with them [but] our business is to pray for the government, to pray for justice, to speak up in the way we’re doing now [and] if it’s the right thing to do, then despite the risks, we must go ahead.’59 Even when war broke out the following month, Jensen, in a pastoral letter to all Anglican churches in Sydney, engaged in a little fence-sitting. ‘For my own part,’ the letter read, ‘I remain un-persuaded that we ought to have committed our military forces, but I recognise the limitations of my judgment and the sincerity of those who differ.’60 By contrast, Archbishop Carnley said the government had failed in its duty to insist on a negotiated settlement and work toward that end. The Australian Catholic Social Justice described the war as unjust, immoral and based on little more than conjecture. The Uniting Church’s James Haire put it starkly: ‘This war is wrong.’ Even the Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral, Peter Jensen’s brother Phillip, held a special prayer service at which he declared that the war ‘cannot be fought in the name of God’.61 ‘It could be read that I’m simply conservative,’ says Jensen. ‘Maybe so, but I’m trying to be balanced and not to assume that the government is always telling us lies.’ But whatever his intentions, it was all too easy to interpret Archbishop Jensen’s comments during the lead-up to war as providing enough moral wriggle room to sanction the government’s decision. His seemingly detached, intellectual contributions to the debate also left him vulnerable to the charge that, while he was prepared to roll up his shirt sleeves and engage in active political campaigning on an issue like embryonic stem cell research, he would 157
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not draw his office or his church into a street brawl over the politics of war and peace. And these kinds of inconsistencies suggested that, when it came to engagement in public policy debates, clerics like Jensen gave their role a low priority, and any statements they might utter could easily be ignored. John Cornish goes further in his criticism of this approach: ‘There’s no sense of community [among conservative evangelicals]. It’s very much a personal religion. They tend to forget the idea of community [and] a Catholic concept of salvation through the Church is anathema.’ Jensen strongly disagrees. ‘It’s an easy criticism, everyone always makes it but they’ve always made it,’ he says. ‘My gospel is not a gospel of private salvation, it never has been—there’s no such gospel. The gospel I preach is going to have profound social consequences but they may not be the social consequences that some of our critics want. Well, I’d dispute whether they understand society correctly.’ Jensen also points out that he has chaired the Diocese’s Social Issues Executive ever since his election and that prior to this he was responsible for appointing two ethicists to the Faculty of Moore College and introducing a social ethics course. At the same time, however, Jensen’s understanding of society and the Church’s responsibility in it lends some credence to Cornish’s criticism. ‘I don’t know what social justice is,’ Jensen says, for example. ‘I don’t know what the word “social” adds to the word “justice”. I think that’s a Catholic expression; it comes from Catholic moral theology.’ Again, Jensen has acknowledged that he is ‘not intellectually equipped to handle the sort of questions of Church and State and society and that sort of thing. Hence, I’m asking what does social justice mean? But at least I know I want to know the answer to that’. The good intentions don’t stop there. ‘The best thing I can do for this country is to make more Christians,’ Jensen has declared. ‘There’s no divide between preaching the gospel and the social consequences that flow from it. These are tremendously important, but they do flow from it—they don’t precede it. You don’t make Christians by creating good works.’ Still, this ordering of priorities, together with Jensen’s somewhat selective interventions in public debate, make it difficult not to draw 158
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the conclusion that while Jensen’s version of Bible-based Christianity might seek to encourage people to be moral in their personal lives, it has no conception to offer of a moral citizenship in the broader sense—people engaged in a comprehensive, active and sustained pursuit of the common good. ‘The Diocese of Sydney is not particularly social justice oriented,’ argues Michael Horsburgh. He adds: It doesn’t see social justice in the way other parts of Anglicanism see social justice. Theologically, the Diocese of Sydney is pre-millenarian, so that it actually has a kind of scepticism about the possibility of improvements in the state of this world until Our Lord comes and fixes it up. They also have a very strong individualistic approach which arises out of their Protestantism—Ultra-Protestantism—and that also creates some difficulties for them in having a good social theology, that is, a theology about society as a whole. [As well] they don’t like associating with non-believers. Social justice requires coalitions and they’re very careful about who they go to bed with.
John Woodhouse lends some credence to this claim. ‘What we’re concerned about is people getting to heaven,’ he says. ‘I don’t think for a moment that what we’re doing is restructuring either the church or society for the next half century.’ To be fair, Jensen did begin to ratchet up his statements on social and public policy issues from the end of 2003, pointing out to the Anglican Christmas Dinner, for instance, that ‘perhaps as refugees, the family of Jesus would have been denied entry into Australia’ under its current regime for asylum seekers, and raising questions about the humane treatment of people in prisons in an address to a conference of Christian school executives at Parliament House, Canberra, in May 2004.62 But the wider absence of Sydney evangelicals in public policy debates was an issue even the Social Issues Executive of the Diocese of Sydney saw fit to raise in one of its occasional briefing papers. The paper noted that ‘on the whole, there has been no sustained evangelical commentary or campaign’ over the treatment of asylum seekers in Australia and that ‘on the whole, the application of any real pressure upon the Government [over the treatment] has been from 159
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secular people and organisations’. The paper then offered some possible explanations for this ‘puzzling aspect’ of the debate. These included a lack of information about the conditions in detention centres, a sense of hopelessness about the effectiveness of attempting to alter government policy, and ambivalence among believers about their relationship to civil authorities. Each of these explanations, however, could be said to apply equally to Catholics and members of the Uniting Church, who were much more active than Sydney Anglicans in particular on the asylum-seeker issue. Lastly, the paper made some subtle—but pointed—suggestions that perhaps the reason for this silence lay in a theology that set evangelicals apart as a ‘family of believers’ who saw themselves as ‘true insiders’ who had no need of engagement with the wider society.63 If this showed that a debate was being invited about the level of social engagement among Sydney Anglicans generally, it was a debate whose impact would be overshadowed by the more obvious and pressing implications of their newfound theological emphases.
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6
The new Reformation Unity is the agreement not of minds, but of wills. —Thomas Aquinas
n 31 October 1517, the eve of All Saints’ Day, in the German town of Wittenberg, arrangements were being finalised for an ecclesiastical transaction that has come to symbolise the corruption of the medieval Church. The following day a papal delegate would dispense salvation to the townsfolk in the form of indulgences (remissions from the punishment due in the next life for sins committed in this one)—but at a price. The money thus raised was to go into the coffers of St Peter’s in Rome, and to the repayment of debts incurred by the local prelate, Albert of Mainz, in connection with his purchase of the titles of archbishop of two dioceses and bishop of a third. In protest at the sale of indulgences and other abuses of religious authority, the Professor of Theology at Wittenberg University, Martin Luther, nailed a list of 95 theses or propositions on the door of the castle church. Luther’s action was the spark that ignited the Reformation. Out of the ensuing maelstrom emerged not two churches—one loyal to Rome and one intent on returning to the unadulterated verities of the gospel—but many. Reformers began to disagree among themselves about the correct discernment of God’s will, and developed around themselves followers who would brook no alternative interpretations of ‘their truth’. Five hundred years later, the Sydney Diocese seems to be positioning itself to repeat the process.
O
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With few exceptions, Anglicans have traditionally viewed their differences and the tensions these create as challenges to be overcome in the interests of their shared heritage. Unity in diversity has been a distinctive attribute of their faith community. Now, however, in conservative evangelical circles, differences of opinion are seen as opportunities to break free of the constraints of denominational consensus, either by promoting new interpretations of scripture or by asserting a dogged faithfulness to old ones. Continuing to accommodate all expressions of Anglicanism, it is said, risks a situation in which it is impossible any longer to use the term ‘Anglican’ with a substantive meaning in any context. Australian Anglicans are not only caught up in this historic moment; their numbers include key players in the drama. Since the ordination of the first women priests in Perth in 1992, the national church’s always uneasy unity has been tested. Influential Anglicans in Sydney have accused the national church of abandoning the gospel and embracing a liberal secularist agenda; other Anglican leaders have responded by accusing the Diocese of Sydney of seeking to create another church in its own image. Gone are the days when these disputes could be fought out by nailing a protest to the church door. These days disputation is more likely to involve a combination of crude political savvy, sophisticated public relations, and a heavily resourced commitment of time, energy and personnel. Sydney has all three in abundance and the will to use them in defence of its interpretation of the faith. As a result, the battle conservative evangelicals won in the Diocese in the 1990s and are now taking to the rest of the world has consequences potentially as volcanic—if on a smaller scale—for the Australian church, the Anglican communion and ecumenical and inter-faith relations generally, as those produced by Martin Luther’s action 500 years ago.
Anglican turf wars One obvious arena in which this contest is played out within the Australian Church is the General Synod. Although first established in 162
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1872, the powers and responsibilities of General Synod are now laid down in the 1961 Constitution of the Anglican Church of Australia. Section 26 of this constitution states that Synod ‘may make canons, rules and resolutions relating to the order and good government of this Church including canons in respect of ritual, ceremonial and discipline’; this power is then circumscribed by Section 30, which declares that any such canon ‘shall not come into force in any diocese unless and until the diocese by ordinance adopts the said canon’. The effect of this arrangement is best summed up by Bruce Kaye, general secretary of the General Synod, in Anglicanism in Australia: A History. ‘The structure of the constitution,’ he writes, ‘gives [General Synod] powers of inhibition on core issues and the opportunity to exercise its leadership by way of permission.’1 General Synod, in other words, has the power to facilitate rather than direct legislation that pertains to individual dioceses. The full General Synod consists of a House of Bishops, a House of Clergy and a House of Laity—each of which must approve any canon by a substantial majority vote before it becomes law. The number of clergy and lay representatives any particular diocese has on Synod is determined not by the overall population of Anglicans it contains but by the number of its parish clergy (bishops, priests and deacons). A perennial complaint of the Diocese of Sydney is that while it contains nearly one-third of all church-going Anglicans in the country, it is under-represented on Synod with only one-fifth of its members. Repeated suggestions that this imbalance could be rectified by licensing more clergy (more women deacons, for instance) have fallen on deaf ears. Still, with about 21 per cent of the votes in Synod, Sydney representatives constitute the largest single contingent. Further influence, even if indirect, stems from the contribution the Diocese makes to the General Synod budget. Sydney has not been averse to flexing both these muscles to frustrate initiatives of which it disapproves. For years, with other conservative opponents, it was able to stand in the way of attempts to permit the ordination of women. That changed in 1992. Legislation enabling dioceses to decide the issue of women’s 163
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ordination for themselves on the basis of national legislation was provisionally passed by General Synod at its meeting in July 1992. At a special session held the following November, the provisional canon repealing any inherited English church law or tradition preventing the ordination of women was passed by narrow margins in all three houses. Sydney’s reaction was not unexpected: there were calls for the Diocese to withdraw from what was claimed to be a gerrymandered General Synod and the Diocese cut off some of its payments to the body—specifically, non-binding payments to the special fund which finances General Synod contributions to the wider Anglican Communion and ecumenical responsibilities such as the National Council of Churches.2 The struggle over women’s ordination had already seen a split with some Anglo-Catholics. In the wake of a 1987 Appellate Tribunal ruling in favour of women deacons, about a dozen Anglican clergy were received into the Catholic Church, while others moved to set up a diocese in Australia of the Anglican Catholic Church, claiming they were the only authentic representatives of traditional Anglicanism. By 1992, this movement had split again, into one body which became a member of the Traditional Anglican Communion and another affiliated with the Original Province of the Anglican Catholic Church.3 But the events of 1992 had a potentially far more damaging impact on the future of the great bulk of Australian Anglicans and, ironically, the General Synod decision in favour of women’s ordination had less to do with it than did the manoeuvrings ahead of the vote. By acting unilaterally in ordaining women priests in March of that year—and doing so without sanction from the General Synod—Archbishop Carnley had set a moral precedent for other dioceses to take a similar step over issues they might deem critical to the faith—lay presidency in Sydney’s case, for instance.4 And although appeals to the secular courts to stop bishops ordaining women had ultimately failed, they revealed a disinclination on the part of the judiciary to become involved themselves in church matters that did not deal strictly with property issues. Subsequent meetings of General Synod have been less explosive affairs because, ultimately, less has been seen to hang on them. Thus, 164
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for example, the General Synod of 1995 voted to approve the new Prayer Book—even with the amendments insisted on by Archbishop Goodhew—but the Sydney Synod the next year simply rejected it. That same year Sydney Synod voted again on the issue of women’s ordination. Despite a relatively smooth transition to a gender-neutral priesthood throughout much of the country over the previous four years, the move was again flatly rejected in the house of clergy by 151 votes to 79, and Archbishop Goodhew’s suggestion of at least allowing women chaplains in children’s hospitals and girls’ schools was stopped dead in its tracks.5 As was mentioned earlier, the General Synod held in Adelaide in February 1998 is generally regarded as one of the most successful in decades; it was certainly one of the least belligerent. Most delegates agreed that the new, non-adversarial discussion process that was adopted encouraged a greater spirit of compromise and cooperation on the Synod floor. But some delegates explained the mood in other terms. Commenting on the successful motion put by Archbishop Goodhew to create a task force to study the decline in Anglican Church attendance nationally, and to explore ways in which Anglicans could more effectively engage with other Australians, one delegate pointed out that voting for something and then following it up were two quite different things. ‘We say these things in synod,’ this delegate said, ‘but never do them.’ Another suggested that the whole General Synod exercise had become something of a sideshow. ‘They ought to play the theme music from [the film] Titanic at the opening of every session just to remind them to keep things in perspective.’6 According to some participants, the 2001 General Synod in Brisbane was the most amiable in years and showed that the various factions within the national church were finally learning to live with each other. That was one interpretation. Another was that irreconcilable differences had begun to produce the kind of paralysis that works against effective decision making at the national level. The outcome of the debate over the consecration of women as bishops was a case in point. Australian Anglicans first began considering this issue many years ago. Having previously declared that there was no theological 165
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barrier to the move, in 1998 General Synod instructed a working party to draft legislation to give effect to that judgment. Three years and a good deal of soul-searching later, decisive action was put off again until 2004. At the General Synod held that year in Perth, a motion to allow the consecration of women as bishops in those dioceses favouring the change was defeated. Leading the debate against the motion was Archbishop Jensen who argued that what was at stake was nothing less than the ‘whole of our belief system’. The vast majority of bishops (17 to 6) and of both clergy (63 to 43) and lay delegates (67 to 39) disagreed but the motion fell twelve votes short of the two-thirds majority needed in each house to carry the day.7 The battlelines on the church’s attitude to homosexuality are just as entrenched. In Brisbane a decision was taken to accept a report on the subject by the General Synod’s doctrine panel, and to encourage further study of the report by Anglicans throughout the country. That was the easy part, however, because the panel had not achieved consensus on what action the church should take on same-sex unions or on the ordination of practising homosexuals, so the report made no concrete recommendations. Hints of a fundamental parting of the ways in thinking about this issue were already evident among the various contributors. ‘Our first task, before there is any discussion of appropriate physical behaviours, is to pause to reflect and to reframe the understanding of homosexual relationships themselves within the parameters set by the category of friendship,’ Archbishop Carnley argued in a section he wrote on friendship. ‘This will help us all, both those within the life of the Church and those in the wider secular society, to come to a deeper appreciation of the rich spiritual value of genuine friendship and of its very great importance to being authentically human.’8 Reflection and re-framing, however, were clearly not what Peter Jensen had in mind. In his contribution he observed that ‘holding to the traditional position may be exactly what the Church is being called to do in this culture. Whatever we may think of the post-modern world, surely it is sexobsessed in physically, emotionally and spiritually unhealthy ways. A witness to the value of sex within the conventional bonds of 166
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marriage only may be precisely what is needed for the good health of individuals and society’.9 After the reception of this report, a motion was put to Synod that it affirm the Church’s traditional teaching on marriage and homosexuality by formally endorsing the 1998 Lambeth Conference resolution upholding the established teaching on human sexuality. This motion was defeated by a vote of 132 to 83, but not before it was clear that if legislation of a substantive kind on homosexuality ever came up, it would open a serious division within the Church. That possibility remains despite strong majorities voting in favour of two motions at the 2004 General Synod declaring that the national church does not condone the blessing of same-sex unions or the ordination of people in openly committed same-sex relationships—concessions, it could be argued, to the immediate challenge the unilateral action of some dioceses in North America on each of these specific issues posed at the time to the future unity of the Anglican Communion The debate over women bishops and homosexuality in Brisbane in 2001 drew considerable media attention. Much less attention focused on the more arcane discussion of revising the Church’s constitution, even though this was a much more important indication of where Anglicans are heading. The deputy chancellor of the Brisbane Diocese, Bill Anderssen, for instance, spoke about the ‘centrifugal force’ of diocesan autonomy which encouraged ‘tribalism’ and prevented agreement. As a result, it was easier at times for Anglicans to form covenants with other churches, he said, than to agree among themselves. ‘Perhaps we should start again,’ Anderssen suggested, ‘as if we were separate denominations, to redefine the common ground of our doctrine, perhaps with less precision which allows greater individual freedom.’10 This formula—less doctrinal precision plus greater freedom of action—suggested an Anglican Church very different to the one familiar to most Australians. But would the transformation end there? In summing up the mood of the General Synod, the president of Sydney Diocese’s Anglican Church League, Canon Bruce BallantineJones, commented that liberal and conservative Anglicans were heading 167
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in different directions in the manner of ‘two churches under one banner, like continental plates drifting apart’. His solution to the problem was to renegotiate the basis of association ‘to work out how we can co-exist without feeling implicated in decisions that go against our conscience’.11 This remark seemed to sum up the mood of some Sydney Anglicans throughout the 1990s. ‘Sydney did seem to be moving further away,’ comments Keith Rayner of the general feeling during his term as Primate (1991–99). ‘This was not because of the policy of Archbishop Goodhew but of that of other powerful forces in the Diocese.’ Given the nature and scope of the issues of conscience which were dividing liberals and conservatives by the end of the 1990s, any institutional arrangement along the lines suggested by Anderssen or Ballantine-Jones risked being nothing more than an empty gesture. ‘I did not consider a break likely during the time I was Primate,’ says Rayner. ‘It has become more likely under the new leadership of Sydney Diocese since my retirement.’ Dramatic evidence pointing in this direction was the reaction by Sydney hardliners to the appointment of Peter Carnley as Primate in 1993—a move that the future Dean of Sydney Phillip Jensen described as the beginning of the fight to protect the faith. But other issues internal to the Sydney Diocese were also tearing at the fabric of national unity. The most significant of these was the issue of allowing lay people to preside over the Communion Service (lay presidency)— a move which, according to Archbishop Keith Rayner, if introduced would be tantamount to Sydney starting a new church.12 This was a view the Archbishop of Canterbury, George Carey, also seemed to share when he warned that lay presidency would end the centuries-old tradition that only bishops and priests can preside at Holy Communion, and make Sydney unique within the Anglican world.13 Those warnings did not stop the push to introduce lay presidency in Sydney, which was supported by Archbishop Peter Jensen on the grounds that it encouraged greater lay involvement in all aspects of ministry and would promote healthy local independent churches.14 Jensen, however, sought a constitutionally legal way to proceed on the matter. Consequently Standing Committee was requested by the 168
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2001 Sydney Synod to appoint its own committee to investigate what options, if any, were available to introduce the practice in a way consistent with church law. The committee was mindful of the fact that the national church’s Appellate Tribunal had advised that while there was no constitutional impediment to the introduction of lay presidency, it could only proceed if a canon to that effect was first passed by General Synod—and this was unlikely. It nonetheless reported that there was a loophole, although it involved some fancy legal footwork. The power to authorise lay presidency was identified under the Anglican Church of Australia Constitutions Act of 1902 (originally passed as The Church of England Constitutions Act Amendment Act in NSW )—the provisions of which were not removed when the 1961 National Constitution came into force. But the committee also recognised that lay presidency is widely regarded as not being authorised by the 1662 Act of Uniformity; in particular, Section X which forbids anyone ‘to consecrate & administer the holy sacrament of the Lord’s Supper before such time as he shall be ordained a priest’. (According to Church insiders, lay presidency has already been practised in some parishes without authorisation, and there is even a claim that by inviting the congregation to pray the ‘Prayer of Thanksgiving and Consecration’ with him—a role clearly reserved to the ordained minister alone in the Book of Common Prayer—Phillip Jensen has introduced a form of lay presidency into St Andrew’s Cathedral itself.) Although the Act of 1662 was repealed in England in 1974, it was still law for the Church of England in Australia in 1961. Furthermore, in a 1948 legal case in New South Wales, it was held by the court to still determine the doctrine and ritual of the Church. The Standing Committee therefore proposed that the way forward to ensure a legal power for lay presidency would be to repeal any operation the Act of Uniformity may still have in the Diocese of Sydney. This was done at the 2003 Synod. The committee also suggested that a process of consultation with the bishops of the Anglican Communion be set in train and a report on their responses be prepared by Archbishop Jensen before a final bill to authorise lay presidency was debated in 2004. Whatever the strict legality of this 169
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course of action, it clearly circumvented any role for General Synod in determining whether Sydney could proceed, and offered no guarantees that the opinions of bishops elsewhere—who were already widely known by and large to vehemently oppose the move—would carry any weight at all at the end of the day. That position seemed to be confirmed when, in August 2004, Standing Committee issued a further statement on lay presidency. Insisting that the administration of the Lord’s Supper by deacons and lay persons remained important both theologically and for the sake of mission, the statement nonetheless declared that there would be no change sought in the present legal situation. However, Standing Committee also proposed that Synod approve a motion that no disciplinary action be taken against a deacon or lay person who administers the Lord’s Supper or is involved in its administration by deacons and lay persons. This would have the effect of removing any form of diocesan or episcopal control over who presides, how the decisions about this are made, or when the practice occurs. It would mean, in other words, the introduction of lay presidency by default.15 At the Sydney Synod in October, however, the motion to suspend disciplinary action was withdrawn on the grounds that it had been too quickly put together and had been misunderstood. A decision on the substance of the motion would be deferred for another year. This seemed to reflect bad timing for introducing lay presidency openly rather than a weakening of support for the principle of it. After all, the General Synod earlier that month had soundly refused to condone lay presidency (despite Archbishop Jensen’s arguments in favour of allowing it). Moreover, at this time the Diocese of Sydney had no interest in antagonising other conservative dioceses around the world by going its own way on this initiative ahead of a looming struggle in the Anglican Communion over the unilateral action that North American dioceses had taken on blessing same-sex unions and consecrating an openly gay man as a bishop. But getting Sydney’s own house in order was only part of the equation. Shortly after his installation as Archbishop, Jensen launched a NSW-wide branch of the Evangelical Fellowship in the Anglican 170
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Communion, linking like-minded evangelicals in the dioceses of Sydney, Bathurst, Grafton, Newcastle and the Riverina. In his inaugural presidential address to the new fellowship, Jensen said it was doubtful that the gospel would remain ‘a factor in Australian society’ unless evangelicals maintained their ‘theological muscle’, ‘ecclesiological essence’ and the ‘eschatological gospel’.16 In response, two years later the bishops of Canberra and Goulburn, Bathurst, and Riverina established their own covenant to pool their resources, in an effort to counteract Sydney’s growing intervention in their affairs.17 Among the issues causing most alarm was Sydney’s continuing practice of planting churches faithful to its doctrinal line across diocesan boundaries. As early as 1995, Newcastle’s Bishop Roger Herft had described as ‘sinister’, and a threat to church unity, plans by evangelicals in Sydney to plant a church on the Central Coast.18 Writing in his diocesan newspaper five years later, Grafton’s Bishop Phillip Huggins likened the strategy of planting churches to a coup in Fiji. It was, he argued, an ‘anarchical deconstruction of duly constituted forms of governance’ within the Anglican Church.19 In an address to the Anglican Church League’s annual synod dinner in October 2001, Phillip Jensen disagreed, arguing that church plants across diocesan boundaries had to proceed for ‘theological reasons’ because some Anglicans were refusing to uphold standards of the faith. ‘We must not accept exclusion from Anglican pulpits,’ he said.20 When a second church plant on the Central Coast was launched in January 2002 (with Phillip Jensen among other senior Sydney clergy on its advisory board), the assisting Bishop of Newcastle, Graeme Rutherford, described the move as ‘strident and arrogant’.21 By then, however, Sydney had planted churches not only on the Central Coast, but also in Orange, Bathurst, Canberra and even Brisbane. A realignment of Australian Anglicanism was well underway in which conservative evangelicals across the country were being brought firmly into Sydney’s orbit.22 Jensen’s perspective on the relationship between Sydney and the rest of the Church in Australia is derived from both a sense of history and a sense of the urgent evangelical task at hand: 171
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I think part of the Sydney psyche has always been we’re under threat. Not just the threat of women’s ordination—women’s ordination is not it really. Our own self-history is that Bathurst Diocese was evangelical: it was lost. Bendigo was evangelical: it was lost. Melbourne was even more evangelical and it was lost. There’s the sense that we must be cautious and strong and defensive. I don’t think we’re any less defensive at that level now. That is to say, part of my business is to make sure that the Anglicanism which we have inherited is the Anglicanism we pass on. I think what’s happened to us in the 90s is that we’ve discovered that in order to stay the same you’ve got to change and the ‘enemy’ against whom we were fighting is not our fellow churchmen as much as the secular world.
This calculation has produced a more aggressive stance on Sydney’s part. So if you ask me what I’m aiming to do, I’m aiming to not so much fight my fellow churchmen as to share the gospel with Australian society. And the more energy and time I spend fighting my fellow churchmen, the less time I’ve got to really put the challenge to unbelief—which is the real problem in our society, not fellow believers, who in any case these days are far less of a threat. I mean no-one in their wildest imaginings thinks there’s going to be an AngloCatholic raid on the Diocese of Sydney.
But it doesn’t take ‘wild imaginings’ to suspect that Sydney now has almost imperial claims on the rest of Anglicanism. When, for instance, Carnley announced that he would be retiring as Primate earlier than expected—in 2005—Peter Jensen’s name was immediately put forward by his supporters as a possible successor. ‘I am not seriously interested in the position,’ Jensen told the Sun-Herald. ‘I want to make that very plain.’ Then, in remarks identical to those that summed up his thinking on the position of Archbishop of Sydney in 2001 he added: ‘But if your fellow Christians were to make it clear they wanted you, you could not easily say no.’23 172
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Going global The fight to protect—and advance—the faith would not only be fought in Australia; under the leadership of Peter Jensen it would also be taken to the international stage. There were precedents for this. In 1870 the Anglican Church in South Africa split with the formation of the largely Anglo-Catholic Church of the Province of Southern Africa (CPSA)—which evangelicals refused to join. The CPSA included all the local Anglican bishops in its ranks, grew rapidly, and was recognised by much of the Anglican Communion. The evangelical rump, by contrast, barely survived. It had no bishops and was rejected by most outsiders as a schismatic church. Its lifeline was the Diocese of Sydney. In 1938 Archbishop Mowll drafted a constitution for the group, giving it legal identity as the Church of England in South Africa (CESA), and its second and third bishops were both Australian. As well, Broughton Knox became the foundation principal of CESA’s ministry training centre—George Whitefield College in Cape Town. The result, according to Stuart Piggin, was that CESA became ‘an outpost of the Sydney strategy’ and ‘laid the foundation for a growing Evangelical predilection for planting gospel churches in parishes and dioceses where it is considered they do not already exist’.24 There was, as well, Sydney’s long association with the Church Missionary Society and more recently—and pointedly—Archbishop Goodhew’s growing involvement, from 1997, with a coalition of conservative Anglican bishops opposed to liberalising tendencies in the Church. But nothing quite matched the passion, or the commitment, Peter Jensen brought to the wider Church over the conflict in the Anglican Communion with respect to blessing same-sex unions and ordaining openly gay clergy. And in entering that fray as forcefully as he has, Jensen not only carved out a leadership role for the Diocese of Sydney within Anglicanism globally, but in the process also carved out a profile for himself as arguably the most significant Australian religious leader internationally of all time. The Anglican Communion today consists of 38 church provinces in more than 160 countries which are unified through 173
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their history, theology, worship and relationship to the See of Canterbury. It encompasses a total of 70 million people now concentrated in Africa, Asia and Latin America. The largest province, for example, is Nigeria with 10 archbishops, 81 bishops and 17 million nominal members. On any given Sunday, there are more Anglicans worshipping in Nigerian churches than in their counterpart churches in Britain, Australia, Canada, the United States and New Zealand combined. Having embraced Christianity in preference to indigenous or more traditional religions, the faithful in the Third World are reluctant to tamper with it. Consequently Anglicanism in these countries tends toward extreme conservatism in matters of doctrine, ecclesiology and morals. One expression of this tendency was the 1997 Kuala Lumpur statement—signed by 80 Southeast Asian bishops—calling for a ‘clear and unambiguous’ teaching of the biblical understanding of human sexuality on the part of all members of the Anglican Communion. This statement was in response to moves within liberal sections of the American Episcopalian church to take a more tolerant position with respect to homosexual practices. Though yet to officially bless samesex unions and sanction the ordination of non-celibate homosexuals, parts of the Episcopal Church of the United States of America (ECUSA)—which, incidentally, numbers around only 3 million members in total—were beginning to move in that direction. Three years after issuing the Kuala Lumpur statement, the archbishops of Southeast Asia and Rwanda took matters into their own hands by illegally consecrating two bishops in Singapore to the breakaway conservative Anglican Mission in America (AMiA). The idea was that through the AMiA, conservative Episcopalians would have the option to bail out of liberal dioceses into a grouping of their own and, as they did so, liberal Episcopalians might eventually be forced back into an orthodox line. At the time, Sydney’s Archbishop Harry Goodhew expressed his opposition to the consecrations in strong terms, saying he was ‘profoundly disappointed’ by the move.25 Fifteen months later, AMiA performed another four illegal consecrations in Denver, Colorado. The Archbishop of Canterbury, 174
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Dr George Carey, had earlier warned the archbishops involved that he would view such consecrations as schismatic. The Anglican Primate, Archbishop Carnley, condemned them as illegal and a ‘gross violation’ of trust. Such sentiments were not now shared in Sydney, however. The Anglican Church League’s Bruce Ballantine-Jones placed some of the responsibility for the maverick consecrations on Archbishop Carey (accusing him of giving priority to internal church politics over fundamental issues of the faith), Bishop Paul Barnett of North Sydney expressed sympathy for the breakaway AMiA, and the Southeast Asian Primate, the Most Rev. Datuk Yong Ping Chung (one of the two rebel archbishops who had conducted the Denver consecrations) remained on the guest list for the installation of the Diocese’s new Archbishop—Peter Jensen.26 The following year (2002) another grassfire broke out in the Diocese of New Westminster in Vancouver, Canada, when its Synod voted in June in favour of blessing same-sex unions. Similar motions had been passed by a majority in 1998 and 2001, but this time Bishop Michael Ingham gave his assent, saying the vote was evidence that Anglicans in Canada were part of ‘an inclusive church in a plural, peaceful and tolerant society’. But in doing so, he made New Westminster the first diocese in the Anglican Communion to take such a step and placed in jeopardy the consensus agreed at the 1998 Lambeth Conference, that all dioceses should maintain the traditional line on matters of sexuality.27 Nine of Westminster’s 80 parishes subsequently issued a statement that they could not in conscience support the blessing of same-sex unions in the diocese. While the Archbishop of Canterbury sympathised with them and made his opposition to Ingham’s move known in no uncertain terms, he stopped short of offering full support to the dissenters. Not so the Standing Committee of Sydney Synod. It issued a statement criticising the New Westminster vote and calling on the Canadian church hierarchy to provide another bishop to tend to the nine parishes’ spiritual and ecclesiastical needs (to provide, in other words, what is known as ‘alternative episcopal oversight’).28 Archbishop Jensen went further. ‘This dispute is not really about 175
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homosexuality,’ he declared. ‘It’s really about authority and who runs the church. And fairly clearly, to most of the rest of us, God runs the church through the Bible.’ Jensen went on to express the hope that the Canadian bishops would make arrangements for alternative episcopal oversight for the nine dissenting parishes, as the Standing Committee had already suggested. What was needed, he added, was alternative episcopal oversight ‘with a bit of clout’—meaning the power to hire and fire clergy. ‘If in the end nothing is done for these nine parishes, all of whom are merely standing where the rest of us stand and where Anglicanism has always stood, then friends from abroad will have to do something.’29 Who those friends were, and what that ‘something’ might be, remained intentionally vague. (Interestingly, one of the leading New Westminster dissenters was the Rev. David Short of St John’s, Shaughnessy, a Sydney-raised and trained Anglican of impeccable evangelical credentials who had even been rumoured as a possible choice as Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral in Sydney before the appointment of Phillip Jensen.) But Archbishop Jensen was soon circulating a letter signed by 24 Australian bishops urging Bishop Ingham not to act on the synod vote and urging the Canadian bishops to provide alternative arrangements if he did. The letter was not signed by Archbishop Carnley—who argued that a draft had not been circulated inviting contributions to the text—but he politely denied suggestions that its initiator was acting like a surrogate Primate in caucusing on the issue.30 Others, however, might have sought to disagree. As the impasse in Canada continued with no resolution in sight, it was announced in July 2002 that the man chosen to succeed Dr George Carey as Archbishop of Canterbury, and so as titular head of the Anglican Communion, was Archbishop Rowan Williams of Wales. Williams is a liberal Anglican who was on record as stating his conviction that there are occasions when homosexual acts can be considered legitimate expressions of love, and had admitted to have knowingly ordained a gay priest some years earlier. In a statement following the announcement, Jensen diplomatically indicated what he expected of the new head of the worldwide Anglican fold when 176
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he expressed the hope that Williams would ‘lead the Communion in faithful adherence to the teaching of the Scripture, especially in regard to the Biblical teaching on marriage and family’.31 Jensen would be less subtle in his approach to Canterbury as the Anglican crisis over homosexuality deepened, however. In September 2002, Carey gave a parting address to the Anglican Consultative Council which was meeting in Hong Kong. ‘My concern,’ Carey said, ‘is that our Communion is being steadily undermined by dioceses and individual bishops taking unilateral action, usually but not always in matters to do with sexuality, and as a result steadily driving us towards serious fragmentation and the real possibility of two or more distinct Anglican bodies emerging.’ Carey clearly had the developments in New Westminster in his sights, but he also singled out Sydney over its ambitions to go ahead with the introduction of lay presidency in defiance of Anglican tradition.32 Jensen was unperturbed. ‘The ruling authority in our church is the Bible first and foremost, then beneath that the Constitution of our church,’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald. ‘The Archbishop of Canterbury has no say in the Anglican Church of Australia.’33 In an interview with the British-based Evangelicals Now newspaper in January 2003, Jensen ratcheted up his rhetoric about Williams. His ‘initial concern’ about Williams’ liberal views on homosexuality, Jensen said, had ‘begun to turn to anxiety’.34 What had changed to warrant this anxiety in the intervening few months seemed to be nothing more than the fact that Williams had not shown any signs of altering his views as the date for his formal installation drew near. In Britain itself, conservative evangelicals in the Church of England had been angered by the appointment of Williams (who they labelled a ‘false teacher’) and their two leading organisations— Church Society and Reform—had both called on him to stand down. In the absence of that, said the Rev. George Curry of Church Society, evangelicals would consider looking abroad for alternative episcopal oversight and he mentioned Jensen as one possibility. ‘This is not something I would be looking for, but I am deeply concerned about the dissenting orthodox Christians,’ Jensen had replied. ‘They need looking after.’35 It was a somewhat ambiguous response, made all the 177
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more so by Jensen’s subsequent speaking tour to evangelicals throughout the United Kingdom.
The Anglican declension During this tour, Peter Jensen would become the first senior bishop in the Anglican Communion to voice concerns about Williams in line with the conservative evangelical fringe of the Church of England. Moreover, what he said and where he said it could not help but give encouragement to the dissenters. One of his first talks was at St Helen’s, Bishopgate, on 22 January, where he addressed a packed church of over 600 people. St Helen’s, The Guardian newspaper pointed out, was ‘the first church in the country effectively to declare UDI [unilateral declaration of independence] by refusing to pay its contributions in protest at Dr Williams’ appointment’.36 ‘Some of us feel that the national Church as a body has begun to commit itself actually to unscriptural practices and doctrines,’ Jensen told his audience. ‘In these ways the genius of evangelicalism is somewhat held in check by the courtesies and compromises necessary to belong to a national church.’37 In an interview with the Church Times a few days later, Jensen predicted that divisions within the church would bring about the rise of an evangelical leader. ‘It had better happen quickly,’ he said. ‘The Church of England will have to change to meet the needs of evangelicals as they evangelise.’38 Seldom had a clerical tour seemed so like an Italian opera— pregnant with conspiratorial intrigue. Was Jensen intentionally driving a stake into the unity of the Church of England? Was he seriously contemplating playing a leadership role in its affairs? Did he see himself as the default head of conservatives within the worldwide Anglican Communion? As much as those possibilities engaged the minds of some onlookers in both Britain and Australia, they all seemed highly unlikely for a number of reasons. First, while evangelicalism is currently the most vibrant branch of the Church in England, it hardly presents a united 178
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front. The movement is divided into what are called ‘open’ or ‘liberal’ evangelicals, charismatics (who emphasise the personal experience of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, especially in physical and emotional healing) and conservatives. Only the last-named refused to welcome the appointment of Rowan Williams as Archbishop of Canterbury, and only they are firmly opposed to such issues as the ordination of women as priests—and even as bishops. But the conservatives are in the minority. One measure of how minor they are is the fact that only 150 parishes had expressed an interest in alternative episcopal oversight, a figure that represents less than half of one per cent of the 33 000 parishes in England. More importantly, though, in countering the perception that Jensen was caught up in some Machiavellian plot is the actual reason for his visit—which had been planned fully a year earlier. The man who coordinated it was the Rev. William Taylor, vicar of St Helen’s. Taylor told the Church of England Newspaper that what he most admired about Jensen was his theological credentials and his ‘vision to re-evangelise the [Sydney] Diocese’. For Taylor, the two went hand in hand and pointed not to any challenge to Williams, but rather to existing strategies for church growth.39 Jensen, remember, had told the Diocese of Sydney that he wanted to entice 10 per cent of Sydneysiders back to Bible-believing churches within a decade. Taylor held a similar ambition in London, and had an aggressive plan to bypass the existing parish system and plant new churches throughout the city to win converts to Christ. Numbers, in other words, not factions, are what interested Taylor. An open conflict with Archbishop Rowan Williams, particularly one that led to a split in the Church of England, would most likely result in a distraction from the main game. Still, Jensen’s comments fed the conspiracy theories. ‘Geography is not going to be determinative any longer for authentic Anglicanism,’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald from London.40 If orthodoxy was to take its place, someone was going to have to define what it meant. In New Westminster, meanwhile, the situation was growing more belligerent. Following an offer in February to conservatives in the 179
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Diocese of alternative Episcopal oversight from Bishop Terry Buckle of the Yukon, Bishop Ingham issued a memo to all clergy warning that they could face disciplinary measures if they accepted the offer. Ingham also issued a ‘Notice of Inhibition’ against Buckle to keep him out of the affairs of New Westminster. Three months later, the first officially church-sanctioned blessings for same-sex couples were performed in New Westminster. The Anglican Province of Nigeria responded by severing all ties with New Westminster, fourteen Primates from Africa and South-East Asia signed a letter in which they declared its Bishop had ‘placed himself and his diocese in an automatic state of impaired communion’ with the majority of Anglicans worldwide, and Jensen informed Ingham that he was no longer welcome in Sydney. But barely had the significance of this blow to Anglican unity hit home when two new storms thundered onto the horizon. One was the announcement that a leading gay rights supporter, Dr Jeffrey John, who had himself admitted to having had a homosexual relationship in the past, had been chosen to take up the position of Bishop of Reading in England. The other was the election of Canon Gene Robinson, a practising homosexual, as Bishop of New Hampshire in the United States.41 Either move, if it proceeded, had the potential to split the Anglican Communion down the middle. By signalling a cross-Atlantic trend toward the acceptance of homosexuality, together the two appointments made that outcome virtually inevitable. The pressure Rowan Williams was now under to assert the authority of traditional Anglican teaching and ecclesiology was intense. In June, the Church of England Evangelical Council wrote to all the bishops in England, warning them of the ‘far-reaching consequences for the unity of the Anglican Church, both locally and further afield’ if John’s consecration went ahead. Church Society issued its own statement declaring that ‘liberalism is destroying the Church’.42 Informally, evangelicals also began to threaten withholding financial contributions to the national church. They claimed they contributed almost half of the more than $1 billion raised by Church of England parishes each 180
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year and would reduce this contribution to the amount necessary to cover their own operating costs if the Church continued to pursue a liberal agenda at variance with the gospel.43 Sections of the church outside the country were also taking matters into their own hands. The Diocese of Recife in Brazil announced in June that it was suspending ‘any institutional relationship’ with New Westminster and with New Hampshire, because of what it termed their ‘aggressive, arrogant and disobedient’ practices.44 The same month, Archbishop Peter Akinola of Nigeria threatened to split the Anglican Communion if John was made a bishop.45 Peter Jensen was bringing his own pressure to bear. In a statement signed also by his five assistant bishops and backed by the Standing Committee of Sydney Synod, Jensen said the decision to appoint John and the election of Robinson had created a ‘tragic disruption of fellowship’ within the Communion. ‘For our part,’ he continued, ‘we cannot welcome into our Diocese those who have abandoned the teaching of Scripture in such a flagrant manner.’46 Jensen then flew out to London for another round of talks and meetings with British evangelicals. The following day, Williams issued his first public comment on the furore over John’s appointment in a letter to all 116 bishops of the Church of England. The appointment, he said, was one he had ‘neither sought to promote nor to obstruct’ and he asked that the concerns of many opposed to John’s consecration be ‘addressed and considered fully’.47 According to Jensen, the letter did not go far enough. It ‘has done very little indeed to quieten the situation,’ he told the ABC Radio’s World Today.48 A few days later, he said in an interview in London that the Anglican Communion ‘is not what it was’ and that ‘we are looking at a major realignment’ in which the ‘present sort of cosy club mentality will go’.49 As the heat intensified, Oxford’s Bishop Richard Harris told the BBC that his decision to appoint John was a matter of integrity that would go ahead and he criticised the way critics of the appointment had conducted the debate on the issue.50 But the writing was well and truly on the wall. After a meeting with Rowan Williams in the first week of July, John announced that he was withdrawing his acceptance 181
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of the appointment. That outcome still left Williams badly wounded: his calls for calm, patience and understanding—and along with them his authority—had been ignored, and his support among liberal Anglicans who had wanted him to stand up to the pressure of the conservatives had been eroded. Moreover, the threat from Robinson’s election in New Hampshire remained and there was still the question of what Williams would do to prevent a schism over New Westminster. Jensen was quick to point out both dilemmas. ‘Though the challenge facing the Church of England is lessened, a range of issues remains,’ he said from Northern Ireland, where he was now touring. ‘The crisis for the worldwide Anglican Church continues.’51 In his presidential address to the General Synod of the Church of England shortly after John’s decision to withdraw from the Reading post was announced, Williams said that each faction within the Church would now considered itself a ‘persecuted minority’. He called again for all members of the Church to learn from the experience of the recent turbulent months, to communicate better, and live with each other more generously.52 But that seemed less and less likely. Ahead of the American Episcopalian Church’s General Convention—which would approve or block the consecration of the controversial New Hampshire consecration—Robinson conducted a round of interviews with the British press in which he made clear he was not about to follow the example of Jeffrey John in stepping down in the interests of Church unity. ‘I do not think the current controversies will cause us to come apart,’ he told one newspaper. ‘This notion of having to find unity in unanimity is misplaced and is not the Anglican tradition.’53 Meanwhile Peter Jensen joined four other archbishops from Africa and Asia in issuing a statement that they would regard ECUSA as having placed itself ‘outside the boundaries of the Anglican Communion’ if it ratified Robinson’s consecration.54 The following week, the American church’s General Convention met in Minneapolis. In 1990 it had censured the Bishop of Newark, New Jersey, John Shelby Spong, after he ordained an openly gay man to the priesthood the previous year. This time, however, its mood had decidedly 182
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changed. The convention affirmed Robinson’s election by a margin of 63 to 45 in the House of Bishops—leading 23 bishops to immediately announce their disassociation from the vote. (In October, the conservative American Anglican Council organised an emergency conference at which it issued a call to the Church of England to create a new alignment for Anglicanism in North America.) The US Primate, Bishop Frank Griswold, dismissed concerns about the possibility of a schism or rupture in the Anglican Communion, saying his relationship was with the See of Canterbury and only through it with other Primates around the world.55 Almost immediately, Williams announced a special Primates’ meeting to be held in October 2003 to discuss the crisis. Speaking to the BBC, Jensen said that the decision to call the summit of Anglican leaders ‘indicates the gravity of the crisis’. But he played down suggestions of a split, saying that the situation in Canada and the United States had caused only ‘disunity’.56 Jensen also issued a statement on what he expected the Primates’ meeting to achieve. ‘I trust that the Primates in their meeting will affirm the long-established teaching of the Church, and that they will seek for unity,’ the statement read. ‘But it must be a unity grounded in the consensus of time-honoured Christian understanding of biblical teaching on human sexuality.’57 In the current context that left little room for compromise. Where that room lay Jensen explained in an interview on Breakfast with David Frost the following day: he urged those who opposed the liberalising of church rules with regard to homosexuals in Canada and the United States to remain within the Church, but insisted that they must be taken care of. That meant alternative Episcopal oversight and guaranteed protections for their church property. ‘In the end,’ he concluded, ‘we are going to have a realignment within the Anglican Communion, but it will be more or less, I think, a church within a church.’58 Two months later, he appeared less sanguine. In an opinion article in the Sydney Morning Herald, Jensen argued that the authority of the Archbishop of Canterbury was on the line. ‘Even if he cannot accept that the blessing of same-sex unions and the endorsement of a gay bishop are wrong in themselves, it will be expected that he can see that faithful Anglicans have been disenfranchised for no other sin than 183
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holding on to the majority traditional view [of human sexuality]. Not to act will invite others to act in support of the traditionalists.’ But what form should any action by Williams take? He should, Jensen insisted, discipline the offending churches in New Westminster and New Hampshire ‘in the only realistic way possible, namely withdrawing recognition. [To do so] would mean a belated recognition of the distance we have already come along a liberal path, and the need for decisive action. It would send a powerful moral and spiritual message to the churches of the West, that our flirtation with secularism has gone too far and we are in real danger of losing the moral and spiritual imperatives of the gospel.’59 After two days of crisis talks at Lambeth Palace a fortnight later, Williams’ Primates’ meeting reaffirmed the Church’s traditional stance on homosexuality, and urged all dioceses not to take further action until a special commission (headed by Archbishop Robin Eames, the Irish Primate) investigated a possible compromise and issued its report in twelve months’ time. Less than three weeks later, however, Gene Robinson’s consecration as Bishop of New Hampshire went ahead as planned. The consecration service was led by Bishop Griswold, even though he had been a signatory to the statement drawn up by the Primates in London. Williams’ authority had again been flouted and the likely threat of a rupture throughout the Anglican Communion thus increased. Events now seemed to be spiralling out of anyone’s control. In February 2004, four Primates from Africa, Southeast Asia and Central America offered ‘temporary adequate episcopal oversight’ to clergy and congregations in Canada who refused to accept their church’s new tolerance for same-sex marriages. The Canadian hierarchy called the offer ‘appalling’ and ‘improper’: a task force had already been established to make local provision for members of the church who had difficulty with the new arrangements—but it would be a ‘unique response to uniquely threatening circumstances’, not some ad hoc intervention from abroad.60 Two months later, Nigeria’s Archbishop Akinola, in his capacity as chairman of the Council of Anglican Provinces in Africa, announced that member churches would no longer 184
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accept financial assistance from Western dioceses that support the ordination of homosexuals. In March, Akinola pulled out of an important international meeting to prepare plans for the 2008 Lambeth Conference, and in May he joined seventeen other Primates of the so-called Global South demanding the American church rescind the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson or face ‘appropriate disciplinary action, which should include the suspension and ultimate expulsion of ECUSA from the fellowship and membership of the Anglican Communion’.61 Meanwhile Anglicans in England were at loggerheads again following the controversial appointment in April of Jeffrey John as Dean of the Diocese of St Alban’s, north of London. The General Synod of the Canadian church, meeting in June, deferred until 2007 a decision on whether to allow individual dioceses to conduct same-sex blessing ceremonies, only to immediately muddy the waters—and further antagonise conservative Anglicans around the world—by approving another measure to affirm the sanctity of committed adult same-sex relationships.62 The Standing Committee of the Sydney Synod in May 2004 passed a motion expressing its support for the statement on ECUSA issued earlier that month by the Primates of the Global South, demanding ‘the application of disciplinary action, should it be necessary, and [for] the maintenance of those parishes and dioceses who are seeking to uphold the historic faith of the Anglican Communion as set forth in Holy Scripture’.63 This was consistent with Archbishop Jensen’s call in the previous October for disciplinary action to be taken with respect to the dioceses of New Westminster and New Hampshire, but whether the full implications of any such course of action had been considered is unclear. As Michael Horsburgh has pointed out, both dioceses had acted according to their duly constituted synodical structures. To override these could set a dangerous precedent for the future disciplining of Sydney should it take action other dioceses considered inconsistent with Anglican traditions, such as introducing lay presidency. Moreover, given the nature of the Anglican Communion—which is a voluntary association lacking both 185
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a membership structure and a central authority equivalent to the Catholic Church—the only conceivable sanction would be expulsion. But to expel a diocese would require—or at the very least imply—that some criteria for membership to be established.64 Would Sydney be comfortable with criteria for membership that reflected the consensus within the Anglican Communion, or only with criteria acceptable to like-minded evangelical dioceses? The first would change the historic nature of Anglicanism, if only in an organisational sense; the second would likely produce a wider split in Anglican ranks than the failure to discipline liberal dioceses. Less than a week before the commission headed by Archbishop Robin Eames was due to release its findings on the challenges posed to the unity of the Anglican Communion, Phillip Jensen, on a speaking tour in England, was reported to have criticised the Archbishop of Canterbury as a ‘theological and intellectual prostitute’ for holding one (liberal) view of homosexuality in private and another (orthodox) view in public.65 The Dean emphatically denied the report, saying he did not call Rowan Williams a prostitute and, in fact, had not referred to him in anything he had said during his public addresses either by name or by title. Media coverage, he added, had ‘grossly misrepresented’ what he had said and reflected the ‘embarrassing systematic failure of modern journalistic methodology’.66 Not everyone was convinced this was the end of the matter. After all, the Dean had also admitted that his comments were given ‘extemporaneously from notes’ and that without transcripts he couldn’t ‘be absolutely sure’ of what he had said. ABC TV’s Media Watch asked both Phillip Jensen and the author of the original news report of his comments, the Guardian’s religious affairs correspondent Stephen Bates, to explain the discrepancy in accounts of what had been said. Jensen offered no reply to this request. Bates, however, responded: Jensen says he did not mention Rowan Williams by name . . . which is technically true but the prostitution comment came immediately after he had paraphrased . . . Dr Williams’ more tolerant views on homosexuality. Therefore, Jensen knew exactly what he was saying and 186
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who he was referring to, whatever he says now, and so did his audience which applauded him heartily for saying it.67
Whose interpretation was correct? That must remain a matter of debate. But Jensen made no apology for the fact that he viewed the wider Anglican Church as ‘systematically corrupt’. As he explained on his return to Sydney, ‘when the chief office bearers publicly subscribe to the church’s official set of beliefs but privately pursue a different set—while still in the pay of the church—we do in fact have corruption’.68 If nothing else, this view indicated that among some senior clergy in the Diocese of Sydney doubts already existed about whether anything could be done by people such as Rowan Williams to resolve the crisis confronting the Anglican Communion. The report that emerged from Archbishop Eames and the commission he headed did nothing to ease those doubts. It called on ECUSA to apologise for the pain and anguish it had caused other Anglicans around the world by going ahead with the consecration of Gene Robinson. It also recommended a moratorium on the ordination of openly gay bishops and on blessing same-sex unions. But it stopped short of expelling the Episcopal Church from the Communion and of demanding the resignation of Robinson.69 In the opinion of Archbishop Peter Jensen, the commission’s effort was bound to fail because the mandate it had been given by Rowan Williams was ‘fatally flawed’: it had not included a request for a clear determination of what the Bible says about homosexuality. Jensen predicted the Anglican Communion would cease to exist in its present form as a result and eventually become a looser federation of churches with ‘parallel jurisdictions’.70 If that happens, the Diocese of Sydney is poised to emerge as a leading influence within the ranks of Anglicans worldwide.
Bringing it back home Seeing their Diocese taking up such a role is not something that all Sydney Anglicans would welcome. Within the Diocese there is already a complaint that the space for the diversity of expressions of 187
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Anglicanism has narrowed in recent years. ‘The arrival of the Jensens has removed the possibility of loyal opposition in the Diocese,’ argues Michael Horsburgh. ‘Harry [Goodhew] was a strong conservative evangelical but he wasn’t an ideologue. The arrival of ideology means that difference becomes dissidence and there’s no opportunity for a loyal opposition because opposition is disloyalty. We are now not in the position of a recognised minority but of an enemy to be abolished.’ John Cornish of Anglicans Together agrees: ‘Anglicanism is about diversity and the diversity is being eliminated and those who fit the mould of the Diocese are the ones who get their point of view heard.’ Moreover, Cornish insists that there is a cost attached to those, like him, who continue to speak out in opposition to the prevailing sentiments in the Diocese and that the cost is meant to drive them further and further to the margins. ‘I’ve never received any money [in response to] requests for funds for a youth worker or something like that—it’s always the last on the list. I’ve never been offered appointments in the Diocese and neither have people similar to me.’ At a still more personal level, Cornish also says that he has received telephone calls, letters and emails attacking him whenever he has spoken out on developments within the Sydney Diocese, even though ‘certain members of the hierarchy have encouraged me to keep speaking out in public because they can’t say things themselves’. Nowhere has this disenchantment been more pronounced than at St Andrew’s Cathedral itself. ‘When Phillip was appointed [Dean] people threw up their hands in horror,’ says Cathedral Organist and Master of Choristers Michael Deasey. ‘I was one of the first to say “Look, give him a chance. No-one would be stupid enough to come in and change everything on their first weekend.” That’s precisely what he did but none of us ever believed anyone would do that. [We assumed] that they’d have more change-management skills than that.’ According to Deasey, the new Dean ‘denigrated the Cathedral building as just a “rain shelter”’ rather than acknowledge it as a sacred site. ‘The Cathedral was consecrated in 1868,’ he explains. ‘To consecrate means to set apart or to dedicate to a sacred purpose or service. During the centenary celebrations in 1968, it was emphasised that the Cathedral is a “house of prayer for all people”. 188
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The Dean’s description caused a mixture of derision from outsiders and deep offence from within the congregation.’ Deasey’s litany of complaints against developments in the Cathedral since Phillip Jensen’s appointment as Dean includes the decision to put the communion table on castors so that it could be pushed aside for services other than Holy Communion (although portable tables have been used in many Anglican services for years), a new emphasis on services as ‘gatherings’ primarily intended to evangelise rather than to engage in worship, and the lack of attention to pastoral care of the congregation. More than anything, however, he sees a downgrading of the role of the Cathedral choir as emblematic of a ‘neo-Puritanism’ in the Diocese as a whole. ‘The role of the choir has become peripheral,’ he says. By tradition, a cathedral choir’s key function is to sing the Prayer Book service but that has been phased out. ‘The choir seems to be non-liturgical; we’re just an embellishment.’ That conclusion seemed to be borne out in May 2004, when it was announced that the choir’s role was to be downgraded by abolishing the traditional Sunday Evensong service at the Cathedral in preference for a Bible study meeting. Although the actual congregation in attendance at Evensong (discounting the choir itself ) had dwindled to around 20 on any given Sunday, the decision to cancel the service was met with outrage from a number of letter writers to the Sydney Morning Herald. One argued that it would cause ‘dismay and genuine anger, not just among Anglicans in the diocese of Sydney but in the wider Australian Anglican communion and beyond’, while another claimed the decision meant that ‘the Cathedral’s faithful congregation has effectively been told to go elsewhere’.71 Cathedral officials insist that there was extensive consultation with the choirmaster, Cathedral Chapter and headmaster of St Andrew’s Cathedral School, and that most members of the evening congregation were contacted personally to discuss any concerns. They also pointed out that the choir would continue to sing on Wednesday mornings and Thursday evenings.72 Coverage of the issue seemed to suggest otherwise and thus ignited animus toward the Sydney Morning Herald in conservative evangelical quarters; citing the ‘intrusion of the media’, Dean Jensen stopped 189
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an expected debate on the future of the choir at the Cathedral’s annual general meeting, instead inviting those in attendance to submit their recommendations in written form for consideration by the Cathedral Chapter.73 There is a more general divide opening up in Sydney, says Horsburgh. ‘In the Diocese of Sydney liberal theology—which is now the big enemy—finds itself in the [Anglo-]Catholic parishes because they’re the ones that are different anyway. Those parishes are now refugee parishes,’ he adds, where the divorced and the gay and lesbian Anglicans ‘find homes’. Moreover, some of the members of these parishes are now ‘actively pursuing alternative episcopal oversight’. Ken Handley rules out the possibility of any more dramatic action—such as a secession of Anglo-Catholic or liberal parishes from the Diocese. ‘There’s no mechanism for that,’ he says, ‘and no-one of any particular persuasion will want it because of the total unpredictability of the result.’ Those on the other side reject any notion that the Diocese has been hijacked or that dissidents have been pushed out of sight. ‘Here [in Sydney] a debate has gone on over many years,’ says John Woodhouse, ‘and at the moment the vast majority I think it’s fair to say are persuaded by what I call evangelical Anglicanism—perhaps of a particular variety—but it has been a process of persuasion.’ Robert Forsyth puts it more bluntly: ‘The quality of the opposition has declined: it’s become more shrill.’ Bruce Ballantine-Jones would seem to agree. The Anglo-Catholic and liberal parishes in Sydney, he points out, together account for less than 8 per cent of all parishes and with each graduating year that goes through Moore College the conservative evangelical position becomes even more unassailable. ‘It doesn’t worry us when the Horsburghs and Cornishes of this world get all the media exposure because that just reminds our people what the other side is like,’ he says. Ecumenical and inter-faith relations have also suffered. In an interview with Channel Nine’s Sunday program in November 2003, Archbishop Peter Jensen threw down the gauntlet to the members of other Christian churches in Australia over the issue of homosexuality. 190
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Commenting on the divisions that had opened up in the Uniting Church over the decision, earlier that year, by its national assembly to allow individual congregations to invite practising homosexuals to be ministers, Jensen suggested that dissenters with the ruling could expect support from Sydney Anglicans. ‘I do think that there will be Uniting Church congregations who leave the Uniting Church over this,’ he said. ‘That certainly seems possible and if so, they will probably set themselves up in some sort of network of independent churches and, in that way, we will do what we can to help them.’ The president of the Uniting Church in Australia, the Rev. Dean Drayton, was visibly shaken at the suggestion. ‘That is a terrible, unwanted intrusion into the life of the Uniting Church,’ he replied, adding that ‘it’s a highhanded act in fact, of attempting to speak beyond the responsibilities for which [Archbishop Jensen] was consecrated, which is as leader of the Anglican Church [in Sydney]’.74 Drayton’s immediate predecessor, the Rev. James Haire, says the Uniting Church’s position on homosexuality had a profound effect on relations with Sydney Anglicans. ‘After Peter Jensen became Archbishop I actually noticed a stronger commitment to relations with the Uniting Church,’ he says. ‘I mean it had always been there during Harry Goodhew’s time—there’s no question about it—but particularly if you like the Protestant traditions of the Uniting Church seemed to bring us closer together. Throughout my time that was the case. Things changed, however, with the decision of the Uniting Church Assembly in July 2003—which was after my time—on sexuality, the so-called Resolution 84, and after that there was an immediate cooling of unity intentions and, of course, a kind of invitation to disaffected Uniting Church people to seek refuge in the Anglican Church in the Sydney Diocese. Before that, things were moving very, very close.’75 To many observers, Jensen’s remark about offering help to members of the Uniting Church opposed to its position on homosexuality was not only a problem for unity talks between the two churches; it was another example of the arrogance and imperial ambition that had overtaken the Diocese since his election. To others it was further evidence 191
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of the drift among Sydney Anglicans away from any genuine commitment to ecumenism and inter-faith dialogue. Either way it signalled a volatile future in Anglicans’ relations with their neighbours. Those relations had long been testy, so far as they involved Catholics, due to the history of sectarianism in this country. As early as 1807, the evangelical Church of England clergyman and second official chaplain to the colony of New South Wales, Samuel Marsden, had written that it was ‘more than probable that if the Catholic religion was once allowed to be celebrated by authority that the colony would be lost to the British Empire in less than one year’. Marsden went on to brand Catholics as ‘extremely superstitious, artful and treacherous’—a description that combined theological differences between the two churches with the more mundane ethnic prejudice the English and Irish held for each other.76 This prejudice, merging with socio-economic and political divisions, continued to cruel ties between Catholics and Anglicans in Australia throughout the greater part of the twentieth century. Beginning in the 1960s, a spirit of ecumenism enveloped both churches (as well Christians generally) to the point where historic barriers to intermarriage, a distaste for joint initiatives in areas of peace and social justice, and even the strict segregation of theological training, began to fall away. By the 1990s, Anglicans and Catholics in Sydney enjoyed a kind of peaceful co-existence. Theological differences were occasionally played upon to emphasise the distinctiveness of evangelical Protestantism. Thus, in a book entitled Have Evangelicals Lost Their Way?—published by St Matthias Press in 1991—Phillip Jensen wrote that, ‘despite the welcome changes wrought by [the Second Vatican Council], and putting to one side the word games practised by theologians, many of the old Catholic errors remain. The mass still occupies a central place, Mary is venerated as much as ever, the sufficiency and centrality of Christ’s atoning death is still denied (in doctrine and practice), the idolatry of statues and medals and pictures continues, and God’s Word (the Bible) is not allowed to have its reign’. Consequently, Jensen concluded, as an organisation ‘Roman Catholicism continues to be sub-Christian in its doctrine and practice’.77 Both the charge and its tone were reminiscent of comments made in the late 1960s by the 192
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then principal of Moore College, Canon Broughton Knox, in which he labelled Catholicism a collection of ‘superstitious aberrations’. These differences were also reflected in the rejection, by the Sydney Diocesan Doctrine Commission, of the 1999 report of the Anglican and Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC) outlining agreements reached within that body on the question of authority—in particularly papal authority—in the Church. The ARCIC report, the doctrine commission concluded, ‘does not sufficiently support the key features of reformed Anglican doctrine of the sovereignty of Scripture and guard against their dilution’.78 Theological differences (as well as institutional interests, especially on the Catholic side) also precluded the type of joint church ventures being experimented with overseas. In Britain, for example, Catholics and Anglicans established some jointly run schools in the late 1990s. Such an arrangement, says Harry Goodhew, would be ‘impossible’ in Sydney: ‘It would be seen as a sell-out.’ Still, Archbishop Goodhew was not averse to issuing statements in conjunction with his Catholic counterpart, Cardinal Edward Clancy, or to engaging in joint campaigns on selected issues with Clancy and the leaders of other churches. These included pressing the State government for more funds for public housing (1997), urging a better deal from the federal government’s legislative response on native title (1997), calling for intervention in the East Timor crisis (1999) and criticising Sydney’s annual Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras as an example of ‘gross exhibitionism’ (2000). Goodhew also explained his decision to withhold his assent to legislation passed by Sydney Synod to introduce lay presidency, in part by saying that such a move ‘may also have implications for our ecumenical relationships’.79 In comments made on the ABC Radio’s Religion Report shortly after his election in 2001, Peter Jensen signalled that he had no particular problem maintaining an Anglican-Catholic détente and expressed a more generous view of Catholics and their faith than held by his brother. While noting that the difference between Protestant Anglicanism and the Roman Catholic Church remained a ‘sharp one’, and expressing the opinion that the ‘gospel itself is at risk in [the latter] because of the way in which for example the treatment of saints 193
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and the blessed Virgin Mary, the Mass and other elements of Catholic theology get in the way of the Gospel’, Jensen nevertheless allowed that the Catholic Church ‘has retained its right to be called a church, and to be part of the Christian family’.80 Indeed, one of the more intriguing twists in Anglican-Catholic relations in recent years has been the close personal relationship between Jensen and his Catholic counterpart, Archbishop George Pell. Jensen’s predecessor, Harry Goodhew, and Pell’s predecessor, Edward Clancy, were, in the words of the former, ‘fairly comfortable with each other’. They maintained a formal relationship through a twice-yearly meeting of heads of the various churches in Sydney and spoke to each other at other times as was warranted. Pell, however, said that he had prayed at St Peter’s tomb in Rome ‘that God might bless [Peter Jensen] and his Diocese’ at the time of his consecration.81 Some months thereafter, he met Jensen at a conference on ecumenism and agreed that they were facing the same adversaries and shared the same objective of tackling unbelief within a secularist culture.82 Through 2002, Jensen and Pell campaigned against legislation to permit stem cell research using human embryos. And in October of that year, Jensen was invited to launch a biography of George Pell, on which occasion he said that while there were major differences on matters of faith between the two, he admired Pell’s ‘defence of human life, his commitment to the impoverished, his determination that doctrine should be taught in the schools’ together with his ‘belief that Christianity has a certain shape and content’ and his ‘pertinacity in the service of the Catholic religion’.83 According to Michael Horsburgh, Jensen and Pell are people of the same mindset. ‘They’re both people of a form of magisterium: for Jensen, the Bible; for Pell, the Catholic magisterium. And they both approach it in the same way. Both of them are socially conservative and morally conservative and the content of their social and moral conservatism, the output, is the same even if the antecedents might be different. And their fundamental theological difference is so great as not to be a subject of discussion between them. So they can do it.’ The fact that Jensen was completely trusted by conservative evangelicals as a man who would never compromise their theological views no doubt also helped. 194
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There were clearly limits, however, as to how far this personal rapport would extend. The Catholic Church was not considered sufficiently Bible-based by the Diocese of Sydney to be included in its mission of evangelisation. As well, while the Vatican stood shoulder to shoulder with conservative evangelicals in opposing women’s ordination to the priesthood, and the growing acceptance of practising homosexuality, on his visit to Rome in October 2003, Archbishop Rowan Williams was pointedly warned about the dangers the growing acceptance of the latter by some Anglicans posed to any hope of reunion between the two churches. Deeper differences over theology and ecclesiology between the two would always keep them at arm’s length. More importantly, as Sydney Anglicans promoted a debate about which version of Christianity was legitimate, they were bound to encounter problems, if not also foster resentment on the part of the Catholic community. ‘The Diocese of Sydney will not have anything to do really with the Catholic Church,’ claims John Cornish bluntly. He cites, as an example, his own request for permission to invite the Catholic Bishop of Broken Bay, David Walker, to speak at the annual St Alban’s Festival at Epping: permission was granted but on the proviso that Walker would not preach at the main Sunday service but only at a clearly defined ecumenical service during the week. Jensen’s attitude to non-Christian faiths was one of respectful detachment. This too became clear in his comments on the Religion Report in June 2001. Asked what Christians could learn from other religious traditions, Jensen’s answer was circumspect. He mentioned the ‘massive impact’ Islamic architecture and culture had upon the West in the tenth and thirteenth centuries. ‘Islam saved civilisation in many ways in those periods,’ he said, ‘and the contribution of the Jewish folk to our whole culture is immense.’ He added that he had ‘a longing to share the knowledge of the Lord Jesus with them, not in a pejorative or a compulsory way, but in a “sit down beside each other and talk” way’. But the conversation he had in mind seemed to be a one-way dialogue as well: ‘I hope I can persuade them of the truth of God’s word as I understand it, and of the central saviourhood of the Lord Jesus Christ.’84 Four months later, in the context of a spate of arson attacks around the country on 195
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churches, synagogues and mosques, Jensen wrote an impassioned column in Southern Cross about the need for Christians to repent of anti-semitism. ‘The discussion between Jews and Christians about God’s plan to bring us together into the same fold must continue,’ he declared. ‘But it must be accompanied by mutual respect and tolerance—and with the absence of any coercion, prejudice or discrimination.’85 Curiously, nothing was mentioned on this occasion—despite the context—about past Christian attitudes and behaviour toward Muslims or of the need to keep a dialogue open with them as well. There thus remained a continuity in relations between Anglicans and Muslims in Sydney from Goodhew’s time when, according to the former Archbishop, Muslim–Christian dialogue ‘never seemed to get very far’ and wasn’t a particularly high priority of his episcopacy. Asked if he takes an active interest in inter-faith dialogue, Jensen replies ‘not particularly’. There’s no significance that should be read into this, he insists, ‘it’s just a matter of time [and] I have other things that I’ve also got to do’. Maybe so, but Peter Jensen represents only one voice of evangelical Sydney. Another, and more strident voice, is that of his brother, Phillip. As a parish rector, Phillip Jensen’s opinions about Catholics or about religions other than Christianity were essentially a local matter for his congregation. Even as a chaplain to the University of New South Wales, what he had to say about non-Christians could be excused as part of the mix of an intellectually robust environment. But as Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral, his views took on a different and far more public significance. As far as Catholics were concerned, for instance, what implications for Anglican–Catholic relations in Sydney were to be attached to the future Dean’s statement that ‘when Protestants and Roman Catholics get together for some joint expression of the faith— be it a Carol Service or an Easter Rally—evangelism is set back and the preservation of Christians is hampered’?86 And what of his views about non-Christian faiths with which, he wrote, ‘we can live in tolerance as fellow-citizens, but whose religious views are erroneous’?87 The passage of time had not tempered these convictions on Phillip’s part, which only made his appointment as Dean in many people’s eyes a worrying indication of the lack of commitment to 196
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inter-religious dialogue within the Diocese. Statements Dean Jensen made during his commencement sermon in March 2003 didn’t help matters. ‘We must stop the stupidity of stretching social tolerance into religious or philosophical relativism,’ he said from the pulpit of the Cathedral. ‘There are many lovely, wonderful Hindus and Muslims and Jews and atheists in our city. Good citizens who have every right to expect to have all the same rights and responsibilities as citizens as anybody else. But their different religions cannot all be right. Some, or all of them, are wrong. And if wrong are monstrous lies and deceits of Satan—devised to destroy the life of the believers.’88 Those comments brought strong reactions from representatives of other churches and faiths.89 ‘He is totally out of tune in today’s era of reconciliation between different religions,’ said the national secretary of the Australian Council of Christians and Jews, the Catholic Church’s Sister Marianne Dacy. ‘It is quite upsetting to hear a view like that expressed by such a prominent churchman.’90 Sydney’s senior Rabbi, Raymond Apple of the Great Synagogue, was equally taken aback. ‘For many years, many of us have been trying to work very hard to create a climate of harmony and understanding and mutual respect between religions, and at this particular moment we would not like to feel that this gentle and gradual positive progress is threatened by something said from a leading Anglican pulpit by a leading Anglican churchman.’91 Still, the Dean’s comments seemed indicative of a view that was essentially shared by conservative evangelicals in Sydney. Two weeks after the commencement sermon, the NSW Jewish Board of Deputies called on Archbishop Jensen to rein in over-zealous followers trying to convert Jews to Christianity. According to its president, Stephen Rothman, the board had received ‘hundreds’ of complaints in the past few years about inappropriate proselytising by Anglicans in Sydney. ‘But the view we’ve received from Sydney officially,’ he told the Sydney Morning Herald, ‘is that they’re entitled to proselytise with which we don’t disagree but what we do disagree with is the methods they use.’ He mentioned a pattern of misrepresentation of Jewish beliefs, misleading advertising, and disrespect for individual choice.92 This complaint would not have been news to Peter Jensen: as principal of Moore College he accompanied 197
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Archbishop Goodhew to a meeting at Sydney’s Great Synagogue in March 1999 to discuss concerns about Christian proselytising within the Jewish community.93 But little had changed, according to Rothman. Sydney Anglicans, he said, had ‘not been willing to discuss [their approach] because they don’t see anything wrong with it’.94 According to Michael Horsburgh, conservative evangelicals in Sydney give a low priority to ecumenism and are ‘uninterested in interfaith questions at all’. They are, he says, ‘strong members of the NSW Council of Churches which is really a grouping of reformed churches [but] it’s almost impossible for the Diocese to find anybody that they can trust in the NSW Ecumenical Council.’ The same month the NSW Jewish Board of Deputies asked Jensen to restrain his followers, Bishop Robert Forsyth was asked by the press why the Diocese of Sydney had sent no delegates to an International Interfaith Dialogue Conference held at Parramatta. ‘[Inter-faith conferences] are just not something we feel strongly about,’ was Forsyth’s reply.95 According to John Woodhouse this reflects the nature of such conferences. ‘Our enthusiasm for [inter-faith discussion] wavers because of the rules of the game,’ he explains. ‘If the rule of the discussion is “You must accept that every view expressed here is equally valid and you’re not allowed to persuade others of your point of view”—I just don’t think we accept that as an intellectual proposition.’ Woodhouse does accept that everybody has a right to their own view, and a right to express it but also that everybody has a right—or should accept each other’s right—to persuade others to their view. But the issue is actually whether inter-faith gatherings are the appropriate occasions for proselytising, and on this point Sydney Anglicans break ranks with the members of other churches and faiths. Woodhouse, however, adds that ‘the fact that we don’t find ourselves engaging in certain formal forums I don’t think of itself means that we’ve withdrawn from interaction’. Others, however, might argue that the Diocese’s non-engagement in formal inter-faith dialogues has complicated a healthy interaction between religious groups and, in some small way at least, weakened attempts to foster the best possible relations among Sydney’s various cultural communities. 198
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Conclusion: The politics of salvation
he election of Peter Jensen as Archbishop of Sydney in 2001 answered the lingering question about whether Anglicanism could define for itself a distinctive contemporary identity in an Australian cultural setting. As many people, however, were surprised and shocked by the result as were delighted. Jensen represents the forces of extreme conservative evangelicalism. Under the influence of these forces Sydney is being encouraged to embrace the essential Protestant elements of a church ‘purely’ reformed. These include the almost exclusive priority accorded scripture over the sacramental life of the Church, a disdain for denominational structures and forms, adherence to orthodox interpretations of the Bible (along with distrust of attempts to modify them in the light of modern biblical scholarship or prevailing social trends), and aggressive proselytising that is uncompromising in its attitude to nonChristians and even Christians of a non-evangelical persuasion. Other strains of Anglicanism within the Diocese—moderate evangelical, liberal and Anglo-Catholic—are certainly not outlawed or directly discouraged. ‘Sydney is not the monochrome diocese in the Anglican Church,’ comments Ken Handley. ‘You can get every brand of Anglicanism in Sydney as long as you’ve got a motor vehicle and can
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afford the petrol.’ But culturally, as well as geographically, these ‘brands’ are increasingly marginalised. They now have to compete with new gospel outreach programs including less formal worship gatherings, fellowships and Bible study groups. Many of these initiatives parallel existing congregational arrangements (and arguably undermine the authority of those local clergy unsympathetic to this approach) but they enjoy the preferential blessing—and material backing—of the current key players in the life of the Sydney Diocese. To a city that has grown used to ignoring meddling prelates, Jensen brought a message too: he will give no ground to secular sensitivities in the battle for people’s souls; salvation is an urgent business and one he intends to direct the full resources of the Diocese toward until as many as possible of the lost sheep have been rounded up for the Lord. The impact of this regime change is already being felt. Many Sydney Anglicans speak of a new unity of purpose within the Diocese, there is a greater vitality even by Sydney’s standards in many of its churches and youth organisations, and Moore College is bursting at the seams with eager recruits for theological education and ministry training. Critics of Jensen’s theology, ecclesiology and/or diocesan appointments, however, say their concerns are summarily dismissed or ignored. An almost totalitarian mindset, others say, has set in and ‘loyal opposition’ in the Diocese is now viewed as akin to treachery. In a final report on the Sydney Synod of October 2004 to his parish of St James, King Street, before announcing his retirement as one of its synod representatives, Michael Horsburgh went much further: In my opinion, there is an underlying seam of implied violence in the [Diocese of Sydney at the moment] that is directly attributable to theological causes. I do not mean that there is physical violence. On the contrary, most people are pleasant and polite, most of the time. Nevertheless, fear is the dominant binding emotion. It is very important to remain theologically sound and the perception of unsoundness brings severe consequences.1
More generally, the tolerance of diversity and the degree of autonomy enjoyed by local parishes is being tested—for good or bad. 200
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The mission adopted under Jensen’s leadership has as its core objective ‘to multiply Bible-based Christian fellowships, congregations and churches which equip and nurture their members and expand themselves, both in the Diocese and in all the world’. This is essentially a conservative evangelical agenda that is being generalised for the entire Church in Sydney—and beyond. That much is clear from a mission policy that calls for ‘reform [of] the life of the Diocese (including its culture, ordinances, customs, use of resources, and deployment of ministry) to encourage and enable the fulfilment of the fundamental aim’. The strategy that has been agreed upon to further these reforms makes provision for widespread consultation. Ultimately, however, someone has to make decisions about how the assets and income of the Diocese can best be used, and those decisions will be made according to the predetermined mission objective. As well, key institutions within the Diocese have now arguably been politicised—with ‘rightminded’ people in charge and new standards of orthodoxy put in place to ‘solve’ complex issues by the insistence on conformity. All of this carries the risk of greater and greater centralised decision making in the Diocese, despite its leadership’s rhetoric about the desire to free up local congregations in the service of the gospel. Moreover, from the outset some things were set in stone—chief among them an ambitious effort to recruit and train thousands of both lay and ordained ministers to carry out the work of evangelism. These will be people who, by inclination, are wedded to the diocesan mission and the kind of Bible-based view of the world that it encapsulates. The insular and monopolistic nature of the Diocese’s training centres will nurture little critical reflection among them. Over time, the deployment of this army of evangelists throughout the Diocese promises to further narrow the acceptable expressions of Anglicanism, constrict the opportunities for a revision of the Church’s direction and priorities in Sydney, and quite possibly lend support and legitimacy to fundamentalist believers throughout the country. Anglicans outside Sydney will not be immune to these changes. Again, many have found encouragement in a leadership no longer content to see the Church slide into an irrelevant accommodation with 201
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the surrounding secular culture or to mouth Christian platitudes almost as though they are an embarrassment even to those who speak them. But others see Sydney intent on an arrogant imperial drive to fashion Anglicanism in its—and only its—image. Certainly the Diocese is now in the hands of people who have long frustrated attempts to achieve consensus on issues such as women’s ordination to the priesthood (and more recently women’s consecration as bishops) and the adoption of the new Prayer Book, have challenged diocesan boundaries by planting churches in places where they determine the ‘true’ gospel is not being preached, have urged the overturning of centuries of clerical tradition by championing the cause of lay presidency, and openly canvass ideas for a looser constitutional arrangement to express the Church’s increasing (diocesan) diversity and release the likes of the Sydney Diocese from national strictures. The struggle between denominational Anglicanism and non-denominational Christianity has been won in Sydney with the latter emerging as the victor. Only time will tell how the course of this battle within the wider Australian Church will run and what impact this will have on the religious life of the nation. Within the worldwide Church as well, Sydney’s role is now more controversial than ever. It has emerged as a leading defender—indeed, the leading defender in the Western church—of Anglican orthodoxy, particularly in regard to moral teaching and ministry. And yet the defence it has mounted is of a maverick kind. The Diocese of Sydney, principally through its Archbishop but also through the resolutions of its Standing Committee, has lent its legitimacy and support to campaigns by like-minded conservative church leaders in Africa, Asia and Latin America who resist the duly authorised (if nonetheless questionable) decisions of sections of the Church in the United Kingdom and North America to appoint gay clergy and to bless same-sex unions. Peter Jensen has also actively encouraged local opponents of these same decisions to seek recourse for their grievances outside their existing diocesan structures and procedures. In both ways, Sydney has helped undermine the moral authority of the titular head of Anglicanism—the Archbishop of Canterbury—and contributed to the unravelling of its international Communion. 202
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Conclusion: The politics of salvation
But for all the uncertainty that faces those on whom Sydney’s new leadership impacts directly or indirectly, that leadership itself must also now confront challenging new realities. Archbishop Jensen is a case in point. By his own insistence, he never sought episcopal office— much less one of the most influential episcopal offices in the country. Still, high office he has achieved, and it has a way of changing its incumbents. It alters perspectives, imposes its own priorities, and brings with it new expectations and responsibilities as well as new opportunities. Jensen’s choice of Ivan Lee as Bishop of Western Sydney in November 2002—over more stalwart conservative evangelicals and key political players in the struggles of the 1990s—and his appointment of Peter Kell as CEO of Anglicare in June 2004—given that Kell had worked on Harry Goodhew’s campaign for archbishop in 1993 and that of Robert Forsyth in 2001, was a member of the Blue Ticket and, as a trustee of Moore College, had initially resisted Jensen’s choice of John Woodhouse to succeed him as principal of the college—may be evidence of this changed dynamic. The same is as true for those conservative evangelicals around him as it is for the Archbishop himself. Until his election, Jensen’s supporters had been able to play the role of a frustrated opposition within Sydney. While they’ve had their own successes at a local level, they have also been able to blame head office, or the Anglican system, or the bishops, or slack parishes, for not being able to fully realise their aims for the Diocese. Now they are the ones in charge and they can only blame the ‘failures’ of the previous leadership for so long. Conservative evangelicals of the ilk of Peter and Phillip Jensen have never had unfettered power before, never run complex and inclusive community institutions such as a diocese or a cathedral, and never been exposed to the kind of public scrutiny which now shadows their every move. They may succeed and may prove their critics wrong, but the possibility of miscalculation and ultimate failure to deliver what has been promised and is expected is now their constant companion. Sydney is the stage on which this drama is to be played. Under Jensen’s vision it is to become the City of Light—not the bright lights of Olympic fame, New Year’s Eve fireworks over the harbour, or a 203
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thousand offices in the CBD burning the midnight oil in the interests of industry—but the pure light of Christian rectitude. If Jensen is able to persuade 10 per cent of Sydney’s entire population to attend Bible-based churches by 2011, he will have succeeded in achieving a level of church involvement not seen in Australia for more than a century; if his mission goal is advanced merely by drawing into the same fold like-minded Christians of various denominations, the result will still challenge comfortable assumptions about the unassailability of the city’s secular culture and its attendant values, politics and social priorities. Other forces (historical, economic, social) are pushing in another direction—toward a sceptical approach to claims of absolute truth, a freeing up of the rules and conventions governing people’s private lives, and an encouragement of different opinions and lifestyles the better to confront the uncertainties of the future. Something will have to give or a deep cultural divide may open in Sydney and the nation between the soldiers of Christ and the sons of Mammon.
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Notes
[OE] refers to an online edition. Introduction 1. 2.
3.
4.
5.
Peter Jensen, Christ’s Gospel to the Nations: The Heart and Mind of Evangelicalism Past, Present and Future, The Latimer Trust, London, 2003, p. 43. This range of figures was offered by Archbishop Peter Jensen in an interview with Channel Nine in November 2003. See transcript ‘Religious turf wars’, Sunday, Channel Nine, 22 November 2003 [ninemsn.com.au] Correspondence with Michael Horsburgh, June 2004. Associate Professor Michael Horsburgh has been a lay representative on the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney since 1984 and a member of its Standing Committee since 1996. He has also held positions on a number of diocesan boards and committees. He is a member of Anglicans Together. See Diocese of Sydney, 2004 Year Book, p. 375. This income does not include the Endowment of the See, which funds the archbishop, bishops, archdeacons and their activities. See Attendance Statistics for the Anglican Church of Australia (1991–2001), a report prepared on behalf of the Standing Committee of General Synod by Wayne Brighton, Keith Castle and John Bellamy of the National Church Life Survey, May 2004. 205
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6. Hugh Mackay, Reinventing Australia, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1993, pp. 6–7. 7. John Birmingham, Leviathan: The Unauthorised Biography of Sydney, Random House, Sydney, 1999, pp. 424–5. 8. See, for example, Michael Walzer, The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins of Radical Politics, Atheneum, New York, 1974; David Underdown, Fire From Heaven: Life in an English Town in the Seventeenth Century, Pimlico, London, 2003; Philip Benedict, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed: A Social History of Calvinism, Yale University Press, Newhaven, 2002. 9. See the Australian Electoral Commission’s website for 1996 election results: www.aec.gov.au 10. Birmingham, op cit, p. 483. 11. For an account of the conservative push in the Australian Catholic Church see Chris McGillion (ed.), A Long Way From Rome: Why the Australian Catholic Church is in Crisis, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 2003.
Chapter One: A question of identity 1. Interview with Donald Robinson, Sydney, September 1992. The interview was first reported in Chris McGillion, ‘Anglicans divided’, The Tablet, 26 September, 1992. Donald Robinson was Archbishop of Sydney from 1983 until 1993. 2. On the influence of evangelicals in English missionary societies in the early nineteenth century see Owen Chadwick, ‘Great Britain and Europe’, in John McManners (ed.), The Oxford History of Christianity, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1993. 3. Interview with Robert Forsyth, October 2003. Robert Forsyth was appointed Bishop of South Sydney in April 2000. Prior to then he had been Rector of St Barnabas, Broadway, and chaplain to the University of Sydney. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Robert Forsyth are taken from this interview. 4. Interview with Ken Handley, February 2004. Justice Ken Handley is a judge of the NSW Court of Appeal and was Chancellor—or legal adviser—to the Diocese of Sydney from 1980 until 2003. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Ken Handley are taken from this interview. 5. For a discussion of the women’s ordination movement in Australia see Muriel Porter, Women in the Church, Penguin, Ringwood, 1989; 206
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6. 7.
8. 9.
10.
11. 12.
13. 14. 15.
16.
Anne O’Brien, ‘Anglicanism and gender issues’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia: A History, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2002. Quoted in Bill Lawton, ‘Australian Anglican theology’, in Kaye, op cit., p. 185. Interview with Bruce Ballantine-Jones, November 2003. The Rev. Bruce Ballantine-Jones is rector of St Clement’s, Jannali. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Bruce BallantineJones are taken from this interview. Quoted in Robert Forsyth, ‘The Future of Anglicanism in Australia’, an address to the New South Wales Provincial Synod, February 1994. Interview with John Woodhouse, November 2003. John Woodhouse was appointed principal of Moore Theological College in 2002. Prior to that appointment he was rector of Christ Church, St Ives. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to John Woodhouse are taken from this interview. Interview with Harry Goodhew, August 2003. Harry Goodhew was Archbishop of Sydney from 1993 until 2001. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Harry Goodhew are taken from this interview. Quoted in Graham Williams, ‘New Anglican group aims to heal ordination rift’, Sydney Morning Herald, 25 July 1992, p. 2. Interview with John Cornish, August 2003. John Cornish is rector of St Alban’s, Epping, and president of Anglicans Together. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to John Cornish are taken from this interview. See Graham Williams and Judy Robinson, ‘War in the cloisters’, Sydney Morning Herald, 13 March, 1993, p. 39. ibid. Interview with Stuart Piggin, December 2003. Stuart Piggin was appointed Master of Menzies College at Macquarie University in 1990 and helped direct the campaign for Harry Goodhew’s election as Archbishop in 1993. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Stuart Piggin are taken from this interview. Interview with Robert Tong, May 2004. Robert Tong has been a member of the Sydney Synod since the 1970s, a member of its Standing Committee since the early 1980s and at the time of the interview was chairman of the Anglican Church League. Unless otherwise 207
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17.
18.
19. 20. 21. 22. 23.
24. 25. 26.
27.
28.
208
documented, all statements in this book attributed to Robert Tong are taken from this interview. Correspondence with Tim Harris, September 2003. At the time of the 1993 Election Synod, the Rev. Tim Harris was a clergyman in the Diocese of Sydney. He has since moved to South Australia. Interview with Michael Horsburgh, October 2003. Associate Professor Michael Horsburgh has been a lay representative in the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney since 1984 and a member of its Standing Committee since 1996. He has held positions on a number of diocesan boards and committees. He is a member of Anglicans Together. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Michael Horsburgh are taken from this interview. Quoted in Judy Robinson, ‘Bishop firm on role of women’, Sydney Morning Herald, 3 April 1993, p. 3. Quoted in Helen Signy, ‘Anglican leader to be “open to all”’, Sydney Morning Herald, 29 April 1993, p. 7. Quoted in Archbishop Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 11 October 1993. See, for example, Helen Signy, ‘Anglicans reach out, to win back sevenfold’, Sydney Morning Herald, 12 October 1993, p 6. For an account of the conference see Stuart Piggin, Evangelical Christianity in Australia: Spirit, Word and World, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1996, pp. 214–5. See Judy Robinson and Ian Verrender, ‘The unpleasantness at St Swithun’s’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 December 1993, p. 26. All quotes from Valerie Lawson, ‘How a shepherd lost his flock’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 December 1994, p. 28. Interview with Stephen Judd, June 2004. Stephen Judd was a member of Standing Committee from 1993 until he resigned for personal reasons in 2002. He was one of Archbishop Harry Goodhew’s key synod strategists. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Stephen Judd are taken from this interview. Archbishop Marcus Loane had had one of his nominees for assistant bishop knocked back, although there is some debate about how seriously he pushed for acceptance. Confidential interview, 2004. The interviewee was a member of Standing Committee in the 1990s.
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29. See Lay Presidency at the Lord’s Supper, Sydney Diocesan Doctrine Commission, September 1993. 30. Quoted in Malcolm Knox, ‘Synod challenges call for silence’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 October 1994, p. 2. 31. All quotes from Peter Fray, ‘Sydney turns tough on homosexual Anglicans’, Sydney Morning Herald, 22 March 1995, p. 2. Evangelicals in Sydney have tended to take a harder line historically on homosexuality than have Anglicans in other branches of the national church. Calls in the 1970s for the repeal of laws that made homosexual acts a criminal offence, for instance, were cautiously supported by senior Anglicans in Melbourne and Adelaide, while a report by the Diocesan Ethics and Social Questions Committee of the Sydney Synod in October 1973 argued that they should be retained, although made less harsh. David Hilliard attributes this difference in part to less pastoral experience in dealing with homosexuality on the part of evangelical Anglicans and on the influence of Broughton Knox and his reading of the Bible. See ‘Australian Anglicans and homosexuality: A tale of two cities’, St Mark’s Review, No. 163, Spring 1995, pp. 12–20. 32. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Sydney church “Demotes” visiting woman bishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 2 June 1995, p. 1. 33. Peter Fray, ‘For Anglicans, it’s Sydney or the bush’, Sydney Morning Herald, 1 July 1995, p. 31. 34. Correspondence with Keith Rayner. Melbourne’s Archbishop Keith Rayner was Primate of the Anglican Church of Australia from 1991 until 1999. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Keith Rayner are taken from this correspondence. 35. All quotes from Peter Fray, ‘Split over Prayer Book widens’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 July 1995, p. 13. 36. See Peter Fray, ‘Prayer Book debate delayed’, Sydney Morning Herald, 18 July 1995, p. 5. 37. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’. 38. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Good man in a bad time’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 July 1995, p. 30. 39. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, op. cit. 40. ibid. 209
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41. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Anglicans go north and multiply but tread on toes’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 December 1995, p. 5. 42. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Anglican chief defied by breakaway cleric’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 December 1995, p. 7.
Chapter Two: Battle lines are drawn 1. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Church must fight menace within: report’, Sydney Morning Herald, 5 August 1996, p. 6. 2. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Women bishops pose threat to church’s unity, says Goodhew’, Sydney Morning Herald, 26 June 1996, p. 3. 3. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 28 October 1996. 4. See Helen Signy, ‘More disunity ahead: Archbishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 16 November 1996, p. 15. 5. Quoted in Helen Signy, ‘Anglicans reject women priests’, Sydney Morning Herald, 15 November 1995, p. 2. 6. Quoted in Helen Signy, ‘Churches told: Stick to the book’, Sydney Morning Herald, 4 March 1997, p. 2. Goodhew also licensed some parishes, such as St Alban’s, Epping, which wished to use the new Prayer Book to do so. 7. Quoted in Geraldine O’Brien, ‘$10m sought to restore the “mother Church”’, Sydney Morning Herald, 29 December 1997, p. 4. 8. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 13 October 1997. 9. Confidential interview, 2004. The interviewee was a member of Standing Committee in the 1990s. 10. Quoted in Adam Harvey, ‘Anglicans support homosexual priests’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 February 1997, p. 1; see also Helen Pitt, ‘Ordination for gays supported’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 February 1997, p. 3. 11. See Malcolm Brown, ‘Gay debate to fire up Anglican conservatives’, Sydney Morning Herald, 20 September 1997, p. 17. 12. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, op. cit. 13. See David Passey, ‘Row over new move to gag debate on women priests’, Sydney Morning Herald, 22 October 1997, p. 9. 14. See Appellate Tribunal Opinion: Reference concerning diaconal and lay presidency, 210
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15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.
30. 31. 32.
8 March, 1996, The Anglican Church of Australia General Synod, 1997. The report was released publicly in January 1998. Chris McGillion, ‘Anglicans jolted by empty pews, stressed priests’, Sydney Morning Herald, 18 February 1998, p. 1. Chris McGillion, ‘On its knees’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 February 1998, p. 33. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Bishops take to the world stage’, Sydney Morning Herald, 17 July 1998, p. 11. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Gay abandon’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 August 1998, p. 36. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Women and gays may put Anglicans to test’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 October 1998, p. 4. All quotes in Debra Jopson, ‘Synod rebukes Primate for going soft on homosexuality’, Sydney Morning Herald, 20 October 1998, p. 6. Resolution of the 44th Synod of the Diocese of Sydney, 9/98, 12 October 1998. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 12 October 1998. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Goodhew accused of renewing tension over women priests’, Sydney Morning Herald, 14 October 1998, p. 6. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Synod of the Fathers’, Sydney Morning Herald, 17 October 1998, p. 38. ibid. Julia Baird, ‘Ridding the Church of a troublesome issue’, Sydney Morning Herald, 22 July 1999, p. 17. Quoted in Julia Baird, ‘Women are more Synod against than sinning’, Sydney Morning Herald, 20 October 1999, p. 21. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 11 October 1999. See ‘Australian Anglican Primate cautions Sydney Anglicans against breakaway from mainstream church’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 13 October 1999. Trudy Harris and John Stapleton, ‘Carey lays it on the line for rebel diocese’, The Australian, 1 November 1999, p. 4. Chris McGillion and Ellen Connolly, ‘Synod “on brink of new church”’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 October 1999, p. 4. Quoted in ‘Church unity under threat’, The Canberra Times, 24 October 1999, p. 9. 211
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33. ibid. 34. See ‘A triumph for Anglican laity in Sydney’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 20 October 1999. 35. Quoted in Alan Gale, ‘FED—Sydney Anglican priests’ monopoly end “inevitable”’, Australian Associated Press [hereafter AAP], 26 October 1999. 36. Quoted in Chris McGillion and Ellen Connolly, ‘Synod “on brink of new church”’, op. cit. 37. All quotes in Chris McGillion, ‘Goodhew sidesteps crisis over lay roles’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 November 1999, p. 8. 38. Quoted in Alan Gale, ‘VIC—“Cautious Keith” exits with Sydney slap’, AAP, 19 November 1999. 39. Quoted in James Murray, ‘Unholy pact sank me—archbishop’, The Australian, 12 February 2000, p. 5; see also Chris McGillion, ‘The reluctant shall inherit the radical’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 February 2000, p. 15. 40. See Chris McGillion, ‘The reluctant shall inherit the radical’, op. cit. and ‘New Anglican Primate’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 9 February 2000. 41. Peter Carnley, ‘The rising of the Son’, The Bulletin, 25 April 2000. 42. Quoted in Malcolm Brown, ‘Primate raises Anglican ire’, Sydney Morning Herald, 25 April 2000, p. 3. 43. All quotes in Malcolm Brown, ‘Anger at church leader spreads’, Sydney Morning Herald, 26 April, 2000, p. 3. 44. ‘Archbishop Goodhew responds to the Primate’s Bulletin article’, Anglican Media Sydney, 26 April 2000. 45. See ‘Letter to the clergy of the Diocese of Sydney from Archbishop Harry Goodhew’, Anglican Media Sydney, 26 April 2000. 46. Peter Carnley, Reflections in Glass, HarperCollins, Sydney, 2004, p. 12. 47. Quoted in Malcolm Brown, ‘Bishops to snub Primate service’, Sydney Morning Herald, 29 April 2000, p. 7. 48. Quoted in James Murray, ‘Power base divines holy sea change’, The Australian, 1 May 2000, p. 4. 49. ‘After a holy row, Primate welcomed’, The Illawarra Mercury, 1 May 2000, p. 2. 50. Andrew Stevenson, ‘Best faces shown, clenched teeth not’, Sydney Morning Herald, 1 May 2000, p. 4. 51. Quoted in Luke McIlveen, ‘Primate returns fire and brimstone’, The Australian, 27 April 2000, p. 3. 212
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52. See Julia Baird, ‘Time to break the silence of the Sydney lambs’, Sydney Morning Herald, 3 March 2000, p. 15. 53. See Malcolm Brown, ‘Vote fails to stop quest by Archbishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 5 April 2000, p8. Note: the figures on the vote among clergy representatives in Standing Committee given in this report are incorrect. For accurate figures, and an outline of the relevant procedure, see Mark Payne, ‘Appointment of an Assistant Bishop Ordinance 2000: Explanatory Statement’, Anglican Media Sydney, 10 April 2000. 54. ‘Archbishop’s statement to members of the Synod’, Anglican Media Sydney, 12 April 2000. 55. Both quotes in ‘Anger over church plants “misplaced”’, Southern Cross, August 2000 [online edition; hereafter OE]. 56. ‘Sydney’s behaviour “appears arrogant”: An open letter to Sydney Anglicans from Bishop Phillip Huggins, Southern Cross, August 2000 [OE]. 57. Quoted in ‘Church plants put bishops in spin’, Southern Cross, August 2000 [OE]. 58. See ‘“Irregular action” among Anglicans’, The Christian Century, 23 February 2000, p. 199 [OE]. For a report of the Goodhew–Clancy statement on the Mardi Gras, see Damien Murphy, ‘Bishops unite in Mardi Gras attack’, Sydney Morning Herald, 24 February 2000, p. 1. In an interview with the author, Harry Goodhew recounted that the invitation to join the condemnation of the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras had come from Cardinal Clancy. 59. ‘Archbishop Harry Goodhew, the Archbishop of Sydney, looks for “a broad-based US conservative coalition”’, Anglican Media Sydney, 22 August 2000. 60. See ‘8000 support Archbishop’, Southern Cross, November 2000 [OE]. 61. See ‘Synod calls on Anglican Primates to affirm traditional Church doctrines’, Anglican Media Sydney, 18 October 2000. 62. Harry Goodhew, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 9 October, 2000. 63. ‘Women bishops—Synod Speeches: The Rev. (Canon) Dr Peter Jensen’, Anglican Media Sydney, 17 October 2000. 64. See Malcolm Brown, ‘Seeds of division take root over “planted” churches’, Sydney Morning Herald, 16 October 2000, p. 7. 65. ‘Green light for church plants’, Southern Cross, December 2000 [OE]. 66. Harry Goodhew, ‘Civic dinner’, Anglican Media Sydney, 16 March 2001. 213
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67. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘A good man departs with a timely warning’, Sydney Morning Herald, 20 March 2001.
Chapter Three: Sweet victory 1. For profiles and statements from these candidates see Kelly Burke, ‘The reverend most likely to’, Sydney Morning Herald, 31 May 2001, p. 13; Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Vision splendid’, Southern Cross, June 2001 [OE]; Matt Sun, ‘Synod elects primate—five seek Sydney office’, Daily Telegraph, 5 June 2001, p. 10. 2. Interview with Peter Jensen, November 2003. Peter Jensen became Archbishop of Sydney in June 2001. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Peter Jensen are taken from this interview. 3. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘The reverend most likely to’, op. cit. 4. ibid. 5. ibid. 6. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Women and gays put Anglicans to test’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 October 1998, p. 4. 7. Peter Jensen, ‘ACL dinner’, 9 October 2000, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 8. David Crain, Richard Horsnell, Stephen Judd, Peter Kell, Warwick Olson and Martin Robinson, ‘A second open letter to Synod members in the Diocese of Sydney’, 9 May 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 9. See ‘Conversations with Forsyth’, 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 10. See Robert Doyle, ‘Facts, figures and opinions on the candidates’, Australian Church Record, 29 April 2001, Issue 1883, p. 9. 11. See Kelly Burke, ‘The reverend most likely to’, op. cit. 12. Phillip Jensen, ‘Letter to Synod members from the Rev Phillip Jensen’, 14 May 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 13. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘The reverend most likely to’, op. cit. 14. Bishop Paul Barnett, ‘Letter to Synod members from the Administrator’, 21 March 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 15. James Murray, ‘Unnatural selection’, Southern Cross, April 2001 [OE]. 16. ‘Voting from the first day of the Archbishop Election Synod’, 4 June 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 17. Both quotes in Kelly Burke, ‘Carnley buries hatchet with Sydney Anglicans’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 June 2001, p. 6. 214
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18. Julia Baird, ‘Why one woman is walking away from Synod’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 June 2001, p. 14. 19. ‘Canon Peter Jensen elected Archbishop of Sydney’, 5 June 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 20. ‘A statement from the Rt Rev Robert Forsyth, Bishop of South Sydney’, undated, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 21. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Carnley buries hatchet with Sydney Anglicans’, op. cit. 22. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘The fundamental things apply’, Good Weekend, 29 March 2003, p. 18. 23. Quoted in Diana Bagnall, ‘Meet the Jensens’, The Bulletin, 8 April 2003. 24. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘The fundamental things apply’, op. cit. 25. For biographical information and professional background see Diocese of Sydney 2002 Year Book, p. 174; ‘Archbishop Peter Jensen: Profile’, undated, Anglican Media Sydney; ‘Peter Frederick Jensen’, various entries, Moore Theological College website. 26. Peter Jensen, ‘ACL dinner’, op. cit. 27. See David Edwin Harrell, Jr, ‘American revivalism from Graham to Robertson’, in Edith L. Blumhofer and Randall Balmer (eds), Modern Christian Revivals, University of Illinois Press, Urbana, 1993. 28. See Stuart Piggin, Evangelical Christianity in Australia: Spirit, Word and World, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, 1996, pp. 168–70. 29. ibid., pp. 169 and 154. 30. ibid., p. 156. 31. Quoted in Judy Adamson, ‘Echoes of his first crusade’, Sydney Morning Herald, 28 July 2000, p. 13. 32. Quoted in Diana Bagnall, ‘Meet the Jensens’, op. cit. 33. As Archbishop, Jensen has not revoked the licence Harry Goodhew gave to certain parishes such as St Alban’s, Epping, to use the new Prayer Book although neither, according to John Cornish, has he granted a licence to other parishes requesting permission to use it, such as St John’s, Beecroft. 34. All quotes from Kelly Burke, ‘God’s man is not afraid to call a spade a spade’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 June 2001, p. 6. 35. Quoted in ‘Rev Dr Peter Jensen: The interview’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 13 June 2001. 36. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘The fundamental things apply’, op. cit. 215
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37. This and subsequent quotes from the media conference in ‘Transcript of media conference for Archbishop-elect Peter Jensen’, 7 June 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 38. All story headlines from editions of 8 June 2001. 39. See Malcolm Farr, ‘Unholy row’, Daily Telegraph, 9 June 2001, p. 26. 40. ‘Nearer My God’, editorial, Sydney Morning Herald, 9 June 2001, p. 40. 41. Letter to the Sydney Morning Herald, 9 June 2001. 42. Quoted in Michelle Grattan, Malcolm Brown and Kelly Burke, ‘Jensen taking narrow view: PM’, Sydney Morning Herald, 9 June 2001, p. 4. 43. ibid. 44. Peter Jensen, ‘God must be heard in the national debate’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 June 2001, p. 16. 45. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Jensen steps back from comments about PM and God’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 June 2001, p. 10. 46. Quoted in ‘Rev Dr Peter Jensen: The interview’, Religion Report, op. cit. 47. Peter Jensen, ‘Sermon at consecration and installation service’, 29 June 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE].
Chapter Four: People of the Book 1. ‘And another thing’, The Australian, 20 August 2001, p. 12. 2. Ray Chesterton, ‘First sermon is a rap for new archbishop’, The Daily Telegraph, 20 August 2001, p. 5. 3. For these and following quotes from Jensen’s address, see ‘Archbishop Jensen’s address to the Deep Impact gathering’, 19 August 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 4. See David Hilliard, ‘Pluralism and new alignments in society and church 1967 to the present’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia: A History, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2002, p. 143. 5. All quotes in Kelly Burke, ‘Archbishop tells his flock to take Jesus to work’, Sydney Morning Herald, 20 August 2001, p. 1. 6. All quotes in Kelly Burke, ‘Wrong place for conversion kick, Buddhists tell Jensen’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 August 2001, p. 2. 7. ‘Freedom of belief ’, Sydney Morning Herald editorial, 21 August 2001, p. 12. 8. Letter to the editor by Archbishop Peter Jensen, Sydney Morning Herald, 23 August 2001, p. 13. 216
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9. All quotes from Peter Jensen, ‘Presidential address to synod’, 26 October 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 10. Peter Jensen, ‘Doctrine 1’, Moore Theological College correspondence course, Moore Theological College, Sydney, 1996, p. 63. 11. ibid., pp. 63–4. 12. All quotes were reported in Chris McGillion, ‘Fundamentalism as a backyard phenomenon’, Sydney Morning Herald, 30 October 2001, p. 17. 13. The references that follow are from Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (eds), Fundamentalism Observed, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1991, pp. ix–x. 14. The other components of the fundamentalist program identified by Marty and Appleby are that fundamentalists are also fighting for something, in particular to protect the most intimate zones of life—the family, sex roles, the nurturing and education of children—from the threats they perceive in the outside world; that fundamentalists fight with certain resources—‘real or presumed pasts, actual or imagined ideal original conditions’—they select and use as weapons; and that they fight against others—‘the agents of assault on all that is held dear’. Each of these components finds an echo in statements and positions taken by Peter Jensen. 15. For an account of the historical and cultural roots of conservative Protestantism in the South see Charles Reagan Wilson, Judgment & Grace in Dixie: Southern Faiths From Faulkner to Elvis, The University of Georgia Press, Athens, Georgia, 1995. 16. For an account of the rise of Protestant fundamentalism in the USA see Nancy T. Ammerman, ‘North American Protestant fundamentalism’, in Marty and Appleby, Fundamentalism Observed, op. cit. 17. See Dan Gilgoff and Bret Schulte, ‘The morals and values crowd’, US News and World Report, 15 November 2004. For a more general discussion of religion and American politics see Steve Bruce, Religion in the Modern World: From Cathedrals to Cults, especially Chapter 6, Oxford University Press, New York, 1996. George W. Bush’s active courting of the conservative religious vote brings into question Bruce’s conclusion that the effect of the New Christian Right is negligible over time. 18. See, for instance, ‘Come, all ye faithful’, Canberra Times, 16 October 2004. 19. Caroline Miley, ‘A most un-Anglican archbishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 14 February 2003, p. 15. 217
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20. Quoted in ‘Church unity under threat’, The Canberra Times, 24 October 1999, p. 9. 21. See Chris McGillion and Ellen Connolly, ‘Synod “on brink of new church”’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 October 1999, p. 4. 22. Quoted in Alan Gale, ‘VIC—“Cautious Keith” exits with Sydney slap’, AAP, 19 November 1999. 23. See Trudy Harris and John Stapleton, ‘Carey lays it on the line for rebel diocese’, The Australian, 1 November 1999, p. 4. 24. See Peter Carnley, Reflections in Glass, HarperCollins, Sydney, 2004, pp. 234–41. The same charge, in more detail, is raised by Kevin Giles in The Trinity & Subordinationism: The Doctrine of God and the Contemporary Gender Debate, Intervarsity Press, Downers Grove, 2002. In 1999 the Doctrine Commission of the Diocese of Sydney was chaired by Bishop Paul Barnett and dominated by Moore College staff including Peter Jensen, Robert Doyle and John Woodhouse. At a 2004 meeting of Anglican bishops of Australia, Peter Jensen presented a point-by-point rejoinder to Carnley’s argument and also invited him to address the Sydney Doctrine Commission about any outstanding concerns he had. 25. Bruce Kaye, ‘The emergence and character of Australian Anglican identity’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit., p. 173. 26. James Barr, Beyond Fundamentalism, The Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1984, p. 178. Though he is commenting on fundamentalists, it should be noted that Barr is also conscious of evangelicals whose ‘language remains very often only a diluted and milder version of the basic fundamentalist conceptuality’. 27. ibid., p. 149. 28. ibid., p. 150. 29. ibid., p. 149. 30. Barr, op. cit., p. 151. 31. For a discussion of how these three principles became for Broughton Knox and his associates the ‘key to Evangelical preaching in the diocese of Sydney’ see Bill Lawton, ‘Australian Anglican theology’, in Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit. 32. For a discussion of these principles see Bamber Gascoigne, The Christians, Granada, London, 1978, Chapter 7; E. G. Rupp, Studies in the Making of the English Protestant Tradition, Cambridge University Press, London, 1966, Chapter VIII. 218
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33. Quoted in J. I. Packer, ‘Calvin the theologian’, in F. L. Battles et al. (eds), John Calvin: Courtenay Studies in Reformation Theology, The Sutton Courtenay Press, Appleford, 1966, p. 160. 34. On this point see Patrick Collinson, ‘The late medieval church and its reformation (1400–1600)’, in John McManners (ed.), The Oxford History of Christianity, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1993. 35. See ‘Rev Dr Peter Jensen: the interview’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 13 June 2001. 36. Peter Jensen, ‘Calvinism and the persecution of witches in England (1563–1604)’, thesis submitted to the University of Sydney in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the Honours degree of Master of Arts, June 1976, p. 55. 37. See Felipe Fernandez-Armesto and Derek Wilson, Reformation: Christianity and the World 1500–2000, Bantam Press, London, 1996, p. 131. 38. On this development see David Hilliard, ‘Pluralism and new alignments in society and church 1967 to the present’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit. 39. Interview with Michael Deasey, January 2004. At the time of the interview, Michael Deasey had been the Cathedral Organist and Master of Choristers since 1981. Unless otherwise documented, all statements in this book attributed to Michael Deasey are taken from this interview. 40. Fernandez-Armesto and Wilson, Reformation, op. cit., p. 113. 41. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Women and gays may put Anglicans to test’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 October 1998, p. 4. 42. Bruce Kaye, A Church Without Walls: Being Anglican in Australia, Dove, North Blackburn, 1995, p. 106. 43. Bruce Kaye, ‘The emergence and character of Australian Anglican identity’, in Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit., p. 183. 44. See Tom Frame, ‘Local differences, social and national identity 1930–1966’, in Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit., pp. 119–20.
Chapter Five: Soul searching 1. 2.
See for example Gary Finn, ‘Pop and new age beliefs “have killed Christianity”’, The Guardian, 6 September 2001 [OE]. See Steve Bruce, Religion in the Modern World, Oxford University Press, New York, 1996, p. 106 and pp. 129–47. 219
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3. 4. 5.
6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.
12. 13. 14. 15.
16. 17. 18. 19. 20.
220
Archbishop Peter Jensen, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 26 October 2001. ‘Focusing Resources for the Gospel’, a report from Standing Committee, 9 October 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. Jensen revealed this in his regular column in Southern Cross in August 2002. Subsequent citations are to Roland Allen, The Spontaneous Expansion of the Church, World Dominion Press, London, 1960. Allen, op. cit., p. 143. ibid., p. 84. Quoted in ‘New era for church planting’, Southern Cross, November 2001 [OE]. Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Sydney commits to 10 per cent of the population goal’, Sydney Synod 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. This and subsequent quotations are taken from ‘Focusing Resources for the Gospel’, op. cit. This number was subsequently revised to 10 000 additional lay ministers and 1 000 additional ordained ministers. See Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Time we all made sacrifices’, Southern Cross, November 2002. In 2002 Moore College had 75 ordination candidates. Both quotes in Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Sydney commits to 10 per cent of the population goal’, op. cit. Quoted in Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Vision splendid’, Southern Cross, May 2001. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Newest bishop prefers saving souls to saving bodies’, Sydney Morning Herald, 3 January 2003, p. 6. Quoted in Peter Jensen, ‘Sermon at the consecration of Ivan Yin Lee as Bishop of Western Sydney’, 20 December 2002, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. See Kelly Burke, ‘Secret ballot places archbishop at Anglican helm until 2013’, Sydney Morning Herald, 30 April 2003, p. 6. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘The more the holier—another Jensen leads flock’, Sydney Morning Herald, 18 November 2002, p. 3. Kelly Burke, ‘Anglican women’s leader gives up on Sydney’, Sydney Morning Herald, 27 May 2002, p. 1. See Kelly Burke, ‘Anglican website attacks its archbishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 August 2002, p. 3. Phillip Jensen, ‘The future of evangelical Christianity’, The Briefing, 16 August, 2000.
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21. Quoted in ‘Archbishop Jensen announces the appointment of the Rev Phillip Jensen as Dean of Sydney’, Anglican Media Sydney, 27 October 2002. 22. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Jensen trinity fires spirit of discontent’, Sydney Morning Herald, 28 October 2002, p. 5. 23. Quoted in Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Time we all made sacrifices’, Southern Cross, November 2002. 24. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Jensen trinity fires spirit of discontent’, op. cit. 25. See James Murray, ‘Evangelical archbishop faces liberal revolt’, The Australian, 28 December 2002, p. 4. 26. ‘Brotherly love involves risk’, The Australian, 30 December 2002, p. 10. 27. Quoted in ‘Prelate denies nepotism’, The Daily Telegraph, 19 November 2002, p. 12. 28. See Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Time we all made sacrifices’, op. cit. 29. Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Analysis: “Why do the media print such lies?”’, Southern Cross, November 2002. 30. Quoted in Annette Blackwell, ‘NSW—Archbishop appoints brother to top church job’, AAP, 28 October 2002. 31. Quoted in Alex Devine, ‘An extra five years for the archbishop’, The Daily Telegraph, 30 April 2003, p. 16. 32. James McPherson, ‘Premature decision to extend Jensen’s tenure lacks credibility’, Sydney Morning Herald, 5 May 2003, p. 13. 33. Bruce Ballantine-Jones, ‘Work to be done and Jensen the man to do it’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 May 2003, p. 13. 34. Jeremy Halcrow, ‘Analysis: “Why do the media print such lies?”’, Southern Cross, op. cit. 35. Correspondence with Kelly Burke, May, 2004. Kelly Burke was the Sydney Morning Herald’s religious affairs writer from 2001 until 2003. 36. Quoted in Paul Ham, ‘Not good news—too broad a Church’, The Australian, 1 May 2003. 37. Quoted in ‘Catholics and Anglicans’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 18 December 2002. 38. See Peter Jensen, ‘How can we reach our 10% goal?’ Southern Cross, March 2002. 39. For all quotations from this address see Peter Jensen, ‘Speaking the truth in love’, Halifax-Portal Lecture, 7 May 2002, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 221
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40. Kelly Burke, ‘Church casts net wide for upholders of the faith’, Sydney Morning Herald, 14 October 2002, p. 8. 41. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Bible-believers’ “schism” threat to Anglicans’, Sydney Morning Herald, 14 October 2002, p. 8. 42. All quotes in David Marr, ‘Divine intervention’, Sydney Morning Herald, 5 December 1998, p. 1. 43. See for instance ‘Schism in Sydney’, The Canberra Times, 29 April 2000, p. 1. 44. Quoted in Gerard Noonan, ‘Elite Anglican schools feel a chill from the winds of Jensenism’, Sydney Morning Herald, 15 March 2003, p. 3. 45. See Kelly Burke, ‘Bible-bashed out of a job, say child-care staff ’, Sydney Morning Herald, 30 October 2003, p. 1. 46. Correspondence with Laurie Scandrett, May 2004. Laurie Scandrett is the Chief Executive Officer of the Sydney Anglican Schools Corporation. 47. ‘Rev Dr Peter Jensen: the interview’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 13 June 2001. 48. Archbishop Peter Jensen, ‘Presidential Address to the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney’, 26 October 2001, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 49. See Julia Baird, ‘Refugees not alone when church practises what it preaches’, Sydney Morning Herald, 19 December 2001, p. 20. Both quotes are from this article. 50. ‘Bishop says Woomera conditions “justified mass protests”’, Catholic News, 8 April 2002 [Online news service]. 51. See Peter Carnley et al., ‘Priorities for the new Commonwealth Government’, media release from the Primate, 21 November 2001, Anglican Media Perth [OE]. 52. See Kelly Burke, ‘Call for unity in divided Church’, Sydney Morning Herald, 24 November 2001, p. 9. 53. See ‘Archbishop Jensen “somewhat heartened” by PM’s proposal on embryonic stem cell research’, media release, Anglican Media Sydney, 4 April 2002. 54. Peter Jensen, ‘Embryonic stem cell research: Matter of national importance’, 20 June 2002, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 55. Peter Jensen, ‘Embryonic stem cell research: An address at the public meeting’, 10 August 2002, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 56. ‘Australia must not allow embryos to be stockpiled, says Anglican Archbishop, Dr Peter Jensen’, 5 December 2002, Anglican Media Sydney [OE]. 222
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57. Peter Jensen, ‘Patience and wisdom sorely needed for this grave decision’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 February 2003 [OE]. 58. All quotes in Chris McGillion, ‘Will words of the pacifists survive war?’, Sydney Morning Herald, 18 February 2003, p. 13. 59. ‘Church groups urge John Howard to peacefully resolve Iraq crisis’, The World Today, ABC Online, 18 March 2003. 60. Quoted in Graeme Webber, ‘NSW—Jensen opposed to war, but says “don’t blame troops”’, AAP, 21 March 2003. 61. All quotes from Linda Morris and Kelly Burke, ‘Churches united in their condemnation of war’, Sydney Morning Herald, 24 March 2003, p. 6. 62. See ‘Text of Archbishop Peter Jensen’s address delivered at the Anglican Christmas Dinner’, Anglican Media Sydney, 29 November, 2003 and ‘Text of Archbishop Peter Jensen’s address at the Conference for Christian School Executives, Parliament House, Canberra’, Anglican Media Sydney, 12 May, 2004. 63. ‘Refuge, detention and the failure of evangelical identity’, briefing paper by Andrew Cameron and Tracy Gordon of the Anglican Diocese of Sydney’s Social Issues Executive, Anglican Media Sydney, 21 May 2004.
Chapter Six: The new Reformation 1. Bruce Kaye, ‘The emergence and character of Australian Anglican identity’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia: A History, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2003, p. 163. 2. See Ian Breward, A History of the Australian Churches, Allen & Unwin, 1993, pp. 207–9 and David Hilliard, ‘Pluralism and new alignments in society and Church’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit., pp. 136–7. According to Keith Rayner, the shortfall in contributions from Sydney to the Special Fund caused the Australian Church to be unable to meet in full requests for funding from the Anglican Consultative Council and the National Council of Churches. Correspondence with Keith Rayner. Archbishop Keith Rayner was the Primate of the Anglican church of Australia from 1991 until 1999. At the 2004 General Synod in Perth it was revealed that the Diocese of Sydney had failed to contribute a total of $264 000 to the national 223
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3. 4.
5. 6. 7.
8.
9.
10. 11.
12. 13. 14.
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body in optional assessments during the previous three years. ‘If ever we’re looking for a measure of our division as a national body addressing the demands of this church and our relationship with the wider church then this is a classic example of it,’ commented Robert Fordham, a lay delegate from Melbourne. See ‘Synod writes off Sydney funds’, Market-Place, 13 October 2004, p. 2. See Hilliard, op. cit. Under the Constitution of the Anglican Church in Western Australia, Carnley was legally able to ordain women in the way that he did. Under other State constitutions, such as in NSW, national legislation would be needed to proceed. See Helen Pitt, ‘More disunity ahead: Archbishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 16 November 1996, p. 15. Both quotes in Chris McGillion, ‘On its knees’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 February 1998, p. 33. Quoted in Julia Baird, ‘Toleration is key to the church’s survival’, Sydney Morning Herald, 9–10 October 2004, p. 41. See also Allan Reeder, ‘Anglicans mourn Synod’s “no women bishops” vote’, Market-Place, 13 October 2004, p. 1. Peter Carnley, ‘Friendship’, Faithfulness in Fellowship: Reflections on Homosexuality and the Church, Papers from the Doctrine Panel of the Anglican Church of Australia, John Garratt, 2001, p. 138. Peter Jensen, ‘Ordination and the practice of homosexuality’, in Faithfulness in Fellowship: Reflections on Homosexuality and the Church, op. cit., p. 178 (Jensen’s emphasis). All quotes from Chris McGillion, ‘Synod strains under pressure for change’, Sydney Morning Herald, 31 July 2001, p. 11. Quoted in ‘Parallel Church is “inevitable”’, Southern Cross, August 2001 [OE]. Archbishop Jensen himself suggested the need for ‘radical’ change to the national church’s constitution at the 2004 General Synod. See ‘ “Women bishops”, the price of change?’ Market-Place, 13 October 2004, p. 2. See Chris McGillion and Ellen Connolly, ‘Synod “on brink of new church”’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 October 1999, p. 4. See Trudy Harris and John Stapleton, ‘Carey lays it on the line for rebel diocese’, The Australian, 1 November 1999, p. 4. See Kelly Burke, ‘God’s man is not afraid to call a spade a spade’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 June 2001, p. 6.
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15. Quoted in ‘NSW evangelicals given formal support’, Southern Cross, September 2001 [OE]. 16. Statement on Sydney Standing Committee decision on Lay Administration, Anglican Media Sydney, 12 August, 2004. 17. Graham Downie, ‘NSW diocese send message to Sydney’, The Canberra Times, 17 June 2003 [OE]. 18. See Peter Fray, ‘Anglicans go north and multiply but tread on toes’, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 December 1995, p. 5. 19. Quoted in ‘Anger over church plants “misplaced”’, Southern Cross, August 2000 [OE]. 20. Quoted in ‘New era for church planting’, Southern Cross, November 2001 [OE]. 21. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Clergymen get hot under the collar in Anglican turf war’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 January 2002 [OE]. 22. A study into the effectiveness of church planting as a missionary strategy undertaken by the National Church Life Survey in 2003 carried a mixed message for Sydney Anglicans. It found that while plants across all denominations that employed them attracted a high percentage of newcomers to church life (16 per cent of all attenders were newcomers in a church plant), the percentage of new attenders in churches planted by Sydney Anglicans was significantly lower (10 per cent). The study also showed that the proportion of newcomers to churches planted by Sydney Anglicans was only marginally above the proportion of newcomers present in churches generally (9.6 per cent) and below the number that could be expected by any church undertaking a community outreach program (11 per cent). The researchers did acknowledge, however, that they were using data from the 2001 NCLS survey and that this data contained only a small number of church plants by Sydney Anglicans. See J. Bellamy and K. Castle, ‘The effectiveness of church planting: Some initial research findings’, National Church Life Survey, October 2003. 23. Quoted in Andrew West, ‘Anglicans look for leader with a healing touch’, Sun Herald, 29 February 2004, p. 27. 24. See Stuart Piggin, ‘Australian Anglicanism in a world-wide context’, in Bruce Kaye (ed.), Anglicanism in Australia, op. cit., pp. 214–16. 25. See ‘“Irregular action” among Anglicans’, The Christian Century, Vol. 117, Issue 6, 23 February 2000, p. 199. 225
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26. Kelly Burke, ‘Anglicans split over “illegal” bishops’, Sydney Morning Herald, 28 June 2001, p. 8. 27. Ingham is quoted in Geoff Robson, ‘Vote for gay unions could split Anglican Communion’, Southern Cross, July 2002 [OE]. 28. See ‘Bible believing Christians may be forced out of Anglican Church’, Southern Cross, July 2002 [OE]. 29. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Unholy communion’, Sydney Morning Herald, 16 July 2002, p. 9. 30. See ‘Anglicans divided over same-sex relationships’, interview with Peter Carnley, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 17 July 2002. 31. ‘Statement from the Archbishop of Sydney, Dr Peter Jensen, on the announcement of the 104th Archbishop of Canterbury’, Anglican Media Sydney, 23 July 2002. 32. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Sydney Anglicans going too far, says Archbishop Carey’, Sydney Morning Herald, 18 September 2002, p. 5. 33. ibid. 34. Quoted in ‘Which way for Anglicans?’, Evangelicals Now, January 2003 [OE]. 35. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Jensen’s preaching. England’s listening’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 January 2003, p. 15. 36. Stephen Bates, ‘Rowan Williams criticised by Australian archbishop’, The Guardian, 21 January 2003, p. 6. 37. Quoted in Luke Coppen, ‘The Archbishop of Sydney, the Most Rev Peter Jensen—Faith News’, The Times, 25 January 2003, p. 41. 38. Quoted in James Murray, ‘Australian cleric defies Canterbury’, The Australian, 27 January, 2003, p. 7. 39. Quoted in Chris McGillion, ‘Jensen’s preaching. England’s listening’, op. cit. 40. Quoted in Peter Fray, ‘Archbishop tongue-lashed for tilt at the London boss’, Sydney Morning Herald, 22 January 2003, p. 1. 41. While John was not repentant he did at least now claim to be celibate. Robinson, however, was divorced and living openly in a sexual relationship with another man. Ironically, had he been divorced and living openly in a non-marital sexual relationship with another woman, he would have been automatically excluded from consecration as a bishop in the Episcopal Church. 42. Quoted in Ruth Gledhill, ‘Bishops urged to prevent gay canon’s consecration’, The Times, 13 June 2003 [OE]. 226
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43. See Ruth Gledhill, ‘Evangelicals’ money is root of problem’, The Times, 8 July 2003 [OE]. 44. See CANN Anglican News, 13 June 2003 [OE]. 45. Stephen Bates, ‘Anglicans face schism over gay bishop’, Sydney Morning Herald, 21 June 2003 [OE]. 46. ‘Sydney bishops respond to the “crisis” in the Anglican Communion’, Anglican Media Sydney, 22 June 2003. 47. ‘Archbishop of Canterbury’s letter to the bishops of the Church of England’, www.archbishopofcanterbury.org, 23 June 2003. 48. See ‘Anglican Church in uproar over gay ecclesiastics’, The World Today, ABC Radio, 24 June 2003 [OE transcript]. 49. Quoted in Peter Wilson, ‘Jensen’s bad news for the Queen’, The Australian, 30 June 2003 [OE]. 50. See ‘Reading crisis deepens’, The Church of England Newspaper, 28 June 2003 [OE]. 51. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Church still faces crisis, says Jensen’, Sydney Morning Herald, 8 July 2003, p. 5. 52. Archbishop Rowan Williams, ‘Presidential Address to the General Synod’, Archbishop of Canterbury website, 14 July 2003. 53. Quoted in ‘Prospects gloomy for unity to prevail in US’, The Church of England Newspaper, 28 July 2003 [OE]. 54. ‘SA archbishop challenges anti-gay Anglicans’, Mail & Guardian, 28 July 2003 [OE]. 55. See ‘US Church fractures over vote’, The Church of England Newspaper, 21 August 2003 [OE]. 56. Quoted in ‘Anglican church in turmoil’, The Age, 10 August 2003 [OE]. 57. ‘Statement from Archbishop Peter Jensen on decision to call a Primates’ Meeting’, Anglican Media Sydney, 9 August 2003. 58. ‘An interview with The Most Revd Peter Jensen, Archbishop of Sydney’, Breakfast with Frost, BBC News, 10 August 2003 [OE]. 59. Peter Jensen, ‘Church unity hinges on the response to a small rebellion’, Sydney Morning Herald, 3 October 2003 [OE]. 60. See ‘Four Primates’ statement: An offer of temporary adequate episcopal oversight’, Virtuosity, 17 February 2004; and Frank Stirk, ‘Primates’ offer “appalling” and “improper”’, CanadianChristianity.com, 12 March 2004. 61. See ‘Repent or face expulsion say 18 primates to ECUSA’, Virtuosity, 18 May 2004. 227
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62. Richard N. Ostling, ‘Canadian Church affirms same-sex unions’, The Guardian, 3 June 2004. 63. The text of the motion was supplied by Michael Horsburgh. 64. See Michael Horsburgh, ‘Breaking the Silence’, an occasional report on developments within the Diocese, 7 June 2004. 65. Quoted in Stephen Bates, ‘Evangelicals call Williams a prostitute’, The Guardian, 13 October 2004. 66. See ‘Dean Jensen challenges inaccuracies—media release’, Anglican Media Sydney, 19 October 2004. 67. For a full discussion of the ABC TV’s Media Watch report on Dean Jensen’s remarks see the program website for 25 October 2004: www.abc.net.au/mediawatch 68. ‘Dean Jensen challenges inaccuracies’, ibid. 69. For a copy of The Lambeth Commission on Communion: The Windsor Report 2004, see the Anglican Communion website: www.anglicancommunion.org 70. Quoted in Linda Morris, ‘Gay bishops will split us, says Jensen’, Sydney Morning Herald, 29 October 2004, p. 9. 71. See Kelly Burke, ‘Song sung blue as choir’s 130 years of tradition die’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 May 2004, p. 3; and ‘Once discarded, church fabric will be hard to replace’, Letters to the Editor, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 May 2004, p. 10. 72. See Madeleine Collins, ‘Bible talks despite pain’, Southern Cross, June 2004, p. 4. 73. See Kelly Burke, ‘Debate on choir crisis silenced by Jensen’, Sydney Morning Herald, 31 May 2004, p. 3. 74. See transcript ‘Religious turf wars’, Sunday, Channel Nine, 22 November 2003 ninemsn.com.au 75. Interview with James Haire, March 2004. The Rev. Professor James Haire was President of the Uniting Church of Australia from 1997 until July 2003. 76. Quoted in Michael Hogan, The Sectarian Strand, Penguin, Ringwood, 1987, p. 33. 77. Phillip Jensen and Tony Payne, Have Evangelicals Lost Their Way?, St Matthias Press, 1991, p. 128. It was said that the followers of Phillip Jensen in the Christian Union at the University of NSW performed a public cleansing ceremony after the Uniting Church held its national 228
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78.
79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94.
assembly on the campus. See Tim Costello, ‘The Gospel according to the brothers Jensen’, Sydney Morning Herald, 4 June 2001, p. 14. Other senior Anglican figures have called this a ‘hoary old urban myth’. See Margaret Rodgers of Anglican Media Sydney in a letter to the editor of The Tablet, 25 May 2002, p. 17. Quoted in ‘The gift of authority does not sufficiently support key features of reformed Anglican doctrine’, Sydney Synod 2000 Media Release, Anglican Media Sydney. Quoted in ‘Church unity under threat’, The Canberra Times, 24 October 1999, p. 9. Quoted in ‘Rev Dr Peter Jensen: The interview’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 13 June 2001. Quoted in Jane Fraser, ‘Archbishop answers call from across the pulpit’, The Australian, 28 October 2002, p. 3. See Lucy Wooding, ‘Sydney’s unlikely allies’, The Tablet, 18 May 2002 [OE]. Quoted in ‘Speech at book launch of George Pell by Tess Livingstone’, Anglican Media Sydney, 29 October 2002. Quoted in ‘Rev Dr Peter Jensen: the interview’, Religion Report, op cit. Peter Jensen, ‘We need to repent of anti-semitism’, Southern Cross, November 2001 [OE]. Phillip Jensen and Tony Payne, Have Evangelicals Lost Their Way?, op. cit., p. 130. ibid., p. 127. The specific examples given were Judaism and Mormonism. ‘Pray that I may declare it fearlessly—Phillip Jensen’s sermon at his Commencement Service’, Anglican Media Sydney, 7 March 2003. See Kelly Burke, ‘Outrage over dean’s hostility to other faiths’, Sydney Morning Herald, 11 March 2003, p. 3. ibid. See ‘Phillip Jensen declares it fearlessly’, Religion Report, ABC Radio, 12 March 2003. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Jews rebuke Jensen—please restrain your followers’, Sydney Morning Herald, 31 March 2003, p. 7. Tony Stephens, ‘Christian zeal abhorrent: Jewish leader’, Sydney Morning Herald, 27 March 1999, p. 3. Quoted in Kelly Burke, ‘Jews rebuke Jensen—please restrain your followers’, op. cit. 229
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95. ibid. Forsyth, however, did give a moving address on violence toward Jews at a commemoration of the Night of Broken Glass (Kristallnacht) in November 2003 in Sydney.
Conclusion: The politics of salvation 1. Michael Horsburgh, Parish of St James, King Street, Sydney, Synod Report 2004.
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Allen, Roland, 1960, The Spontaneous Expansion of the Church, World Dominion Press, London. Balleine, G. R., 1976, A Popular History of the Church of England, Vine Books, London. Barnett, Paul, Jensen, Peter, Newman, Barry and Raiter, Michael, 1999, The New Millennium: Christians and Hope, Aquila Press, Sydney. Barr, James, 1984, Beyond Fundamentalism, The Westminster Press, Philadelphia. Battles, F.L. et al., 1989, John Calvin, The Sutton Courtenay Press, Appleford. Bebbington, D. W., 1989, Evangelicalism in Modern Britain, Unwin Hyman, London. Benedict, Philip, 2002, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed: A Social History of Calvinism, Yale Univeristy Press, Newhaven. Birmingham, John, 1999, Leviathan: The Unauthorised Biography of Sydney, Random House, Sydney. Breward, Ian, 1993, A History of the Australian Churches, Allen & Unwin, Sydney. Bloesch, Donald, G., 1974, The Evangelical Renaissance, Hodder & Stoughton, London. Blombery, Tricia, 1996, The Anglicans in Australia, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra. Blumhofer, Edith L. and Balmer, Randall (eds), 1993, Modern Christian Revivals, University of Illinois Press, Urbana. 231
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Bouwsma, William J., 1988, John Calvin: A Sixteenth-Century Portrait, Oxford University Press, New York. Bruce, Steve, 1996, Religion in the Modern World: From Cathedrals to Cults, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Carey, Hilary M., 1996, Believing in Australia: A Cultural History of Religions, Allen & Unwin, Sydney. Carnley, Peter, 2004, Reflections in Glass, HarperCollins, Sydney. Davidson, Jim (ed.), 1986, The Sydney–Melbourne Book, Allen & Unwin, Sydney. Fernandez-Armesto, Felipe and Wilson, Derek, 1996, Reformation: Christianity and the World 1500–2000, Bantam, London. Gascoigne, Bamber, 1978, The Christians, Granada Publishing, London. Giles, Kevin, 2002, The Trinity & Subordinationism: The Doctrine of God and the Contemporary Gender Debate, Intervarsity Press, Downers Grove. Harris, Harriet A., 1998, Fundamentalism and Evangelicals, Clarendon Press, Oxford. Hogan, Michael, 1987, The Sectarian Strand, Penguin, Ringwood. Jensen, Peter, 2003, Christ’s Gospel to the Nations: The Heart and Mind of Evangelicalism Past, Present and Future, The Latimer Trust, London. Jensen, Phillip D. and Payne, Tony, 1991, Have Evangelicals Lost Their Way?, St Matthias Press, Sydney. Judd, Stephen and Cable, Kenneth, 1987, Sydney Anglicans, Anglican Information Office, Sydney. Kaye, Bruce (ed.), 1995, A Church Without Walls: Being Anglican in Australia, Dove, North Blackburn. —2002, Anglicanism in Australia: A History, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne. McGillion, Chris, 2003 (ed.), A Long Way From Rome: Why the Australian Catholic Church is in Crisis, Allen & Unwin, Sydney. Mackay, Hugh, 1993, Reinventing Australia, Angus & Robertson, Sydney. McManners, John (ed.), 1993, The Oxford History of Christianity, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Marr, David, 1999, The High Price of Heaven, Allen & Unwin, Sydney. Marty, Martin E. and Appleby, R. Scott (eds), 1991, Fundamentalism Observed, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Milley, Caroline, 2002, The Suicidal Church, Pluto, Sydney. Ownby, Ted, 1990, Subduing Satan: Religion, Recreation and Manhood in the Rural South, 1865–1920, University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill. 232
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Pickering, W. S. F., 1989, Anglo-Catholicism: A Study in Religious Ambiguity, Routledge, London. Piggin, Stuart, 1996, Evangelical Christianity in Australia: Spirit, Word and World, Oxford University Press, Melbourne. Porter, Muriel, 1989, Women in the Church, Penguin, Ringwood. Rupp, E. G., 1966, Studies in the Making of the English Protestant Tradition, Cambridge University Press, London. Underdown, David, 2003, Fire From Heaven: Life in an English Town in the Seventeenth Century, Pimlico, London. Walker, Williston (ed.), 1969, John Calvin: The Organiser of Reform Protestantism 1509–1564, Schoken Books, New York. Walzer, Michael, 1974, The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins of Radical Politics, Atheneum, New York. Wendel, François, 1963, Calvin: The Origins and Development of his Religious Thought, Collins, London. Wilson, Charles Reagan, 1995, Judgment & Grace in Dixie: Southern Faiths from Faulkner to Elvis, University of Georgia Press, Athens, Georgia. Wright, Nigel, 1996, The Radical Evangelical, Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, London.
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Index The following initials are used in this index: PJ = Peter Jensen; HG = Harry Goodhew, SC = Standing Committee, DS = Diocese of Sydney ABC Radio, see broadcasts abortion, as political stalking horse 114 ACL, see Anglican Church League Act of Uniformity 169 Akinola, Peter 181, 184 Albert of Mainz 161 Allen, Roland 128–9 alternative episcopal oversight for breakaway groups 175–6, 179–80 American Anglican Council 41–2, 183 Anderson, John 75–6, 155 Anderssen, Bill 167–8 Anglican and Roman Catholic International Commission 193 Anglican Catholic Church 164 Anglican Christmas Dinner, PJ’s speech to 159 Anglican Church in England 3–4, 177–82 Anglican Church (international), see Anglican Communion (worldwide) 234
Anglican Church League establishes regional task forces 37 foundation and goals 23–6 in 2001 election 81–2 meets with Blue Ticket group 55 on SC after 1993: 36 Phillip Jensen’s address to 129–30 PJ’s dinner speech to 76 recovers ground in 1996 elections 39–40 supports PJ’s bid for Archbishopric 74 Anglican Church of Australia xii–xiv, 3–35, see also Australian General Synods ageing congregations 43–4 attendance figures 128 calls to revise constitution 167 decline in influence 9, 37 PJ seen as dissenting from 115–17 PJ’s views on 89–90 relations with DS 171–2, 201–2 relations with non-Anglican congregations 147–8 Anglican Church of Australia Constitutions Act of 1902: 169 Anglican Church of South Africa 173 Anglican Communion (worldwide)
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Index 173–4, see also developing nations 1998 Lambeth Conference 45–7 accommodates diversity 117 after the Reformation 120–1 decline in influence 9 disciplinary options available to 185–6 PJ views as ‘corrupt’ 187 potential schism approaching 124 proposed reconciliation with Roman Catholic Church 51 split by views on homosexuality 65–6 Anglican Consultative Council 177 Anglican Mission in America 174 Anglican–Roman Catholic International Commission 51 Anglican schools 33, 148–51, 159 Anglican Youthworks 133 Anglicanism in Australia: A History 117, 163 Anglicans Together 10, 135 Anglicare NSW 65 Anglo-Catholicism, see also Roman Catholic Church and women’s ordination 50 DS’s split with 164 foundation of xiii–xiv influence on Robert Forsyth 77 liberal theology and 190 Prayer Book for Australia and 29–30 revival in England 4 vs. evangelicalism 67 anti-intellectualism 112 anti-semitism 196, see also nonChristian religions Appellate Tribunal 32–3, 42, 164 Apple, Raymond 197 Appleby, R Scott 110–11 applications driven spending model 131–2 Archbishop of Canterbury, see Carey, George
‘Archbishop Writes’ column 146 Archbishops of Sydney, retirement age 12, 140–1 archdeacons deprived of SC vote 39 Archdiocese of Sydney (Catholic) xviii, see also Pell, George Archepiscopal elections, see elections articles, see also press conferences Australian, The on Deep Impact 99 Australian, The on Phillip Jensen 138 ‘Archbishop Writes’ in Southern Cross 146 Bulletin on the resurrection of Jesus 57–61, 136 Daily Telegraph on Deep Impact 99 Southern Cross on 2001 election 78 Southern Cross on media persecution 142 articles on Peter Jensen Australian, The 138 Australian Church Review supports PJ for Archbishop 77–8 interview with Church Times 178 interview with Evangelicals Now 177 interviews with World Today 157, 181 post-election media conference 91–4 Sydney Morning Herald 177, 183 assistant bishops, selection of 21–2, 133, 203 asylum seekers 152–3, 156, 159–60 attendance figures decline in 37, 124–5 in DS xiv–xv low growth rates 43–4 PJ’s goals for xii, 127–8, 144–5 targets set for 18, 103 Australia, see also Anglican Church (of Australia) Anglicanism in xii–xiv 235
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The Chosen Ones cultural disaster looming 146 economic restructuring xv–xvi political shifts in xvii Roman Catholic Church xiii scepticism about religion 127 Australian Catholic Social Justice 157 Australian Church Review 77–8 Australian General Synods, see also Anglican Church (of Australia) 1995: 29–32 1998: 44–7, 165–6 2001: 165–8 2004: 167 DS’s relations with 162–8 lay presidency referred to 42–3 on women’s ordination 5–7 Australian Labor Party xvii Australian, The 99, 138 Baird, Julia 50, 80–1 Ballantine-Jones, Bruce elected to SC in 1999: 55 heads ACL 25 in 2001 election 82 loses SC seat 25 moves that SC appoints whole Executive Board 55–6 on 1993 elections 24 on 1996 elections 39–40 on changes to Archbishop’s retirement age 140 on evangelical agenda 123 on funding strategy 132 on HG 41, 62, 90–1 on ‘illegal’ consecrations 175 on opposition to evangelism 190 on PJ and DS 141 on potential for schism 167–8 on Prayer Book for Australia 29 on REPA 8, 10, 13, 24 on trial lay presidency 53–4 236
opposes Carnley article 60 Barnett, Paul boycotts Carnley’s installation as Primate 59 calls PJ after election 83, 85 candidate for Archbishop 13–14, 16 influence on Robert Forsyth 77 long association with PJ 85 on 2001 election 78 on ‘illegal’ consecrations 175 retained as Bishop for North Sydney 21 retires 133 Barr, James 117–19 Bashir, Marie 95 Bates, Stephen 186–7 Beazley, Kim 95 Beyond Fundamentalism 117–19 Bible, see scripture Billy Graham Crusade community responses to 124 fundamentalist opposition to 113 PJ and Phillip Jensen at 86–8 Birmingham, John xv–xvi bishops, see also assistant bishops, selection of; women, as bishops alternative episcopal oversight for breakaway groups 175–6 conservative coalition of 173 ‘illegal’ consecrations 65–6, 174–5 outside Sydney, form resource covenant 171 PJ’s view of role 95 Black Americans, religious beliefs 126 Blue Ticket group dominates SC 36–7 formation of 23–4 in 1996 elections 39–40 meets with ACL 55 supports Robert Forsyth for Archbishop 74–5
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Index Book of Common Prayer, The 4, 120 Bourke, Governor 4 Brack, Gary 104 Breakfast with David Frost 183 Brennan, Patricia 49 Briefing, The 136–7 Britain, see United Kingdom broadcasts Four Corners on church planting 64–5 Media Watch on PJ and Rowan Williams 186–7 broadcasts by Peter Jensen, see also press conferences; speeches by Peter Jensen ABC Radio interview on appointing Phillip Jensen to St Andrew’s 138 Breakfast with David Frost 183 Religion Report on attendance goals 144–5 Religion Report on bishops’ role 95 Religion Report on Calvinism 120 Religion Report on factionalism 91 Religion Report on Roman Catholic church 193–4 Sunday program on homosexuality 190–1 Buckle, Terry 180 Buddhism, see non-Christian religions Bulletin article by Primate Carnley 57–61, 136 Bunyan, John (Rev.) 138 Burke, Kelly 142–3 Bush, George W 114 Calvin, John 119–21 Carey, George (Archbishop of Canterbury) on lay presidency 52, 116, 168 on ‘outing’ homosexuals 28 opposes blessing same-sex unions 175
opposes ‘illegal’ consecrations 175 parting address 177 PJ’s views on 183–4 successor to 176–7 caring ministries, position of 130 Carnley, Peter (Archbishop and Primate) 56–61 attends PJ’s installation 95 Bulletin article by 57–61, 136 declines to sign New Westminster letter 176 DS opposition to 168 on homosexuality 166 on ‘illegal’ consecrations 66, 175 ordains women to priesthood 6 position on social issues 57, 153–4, 157 sets precedent for unilateral action 164 views DS as heretical 116–17 Carr, Bob 154 Catholic Bishops’ Conference 156 Catholic Church, see Roman Catholic Church Central Coast, church planting on 34–5 charismatic preaching 112 Chesterton, Ray 99–100 choir of St Andrew’s 189–90 Christianisation of schools, see schools, religious Christianity and ‘gagging of God’ 101–2 founded in Bible 107–9 modern ‘anaemia’ of 107 PJ’s views on 88–9 Christmas, Gerald 10 Church Act of 1836 4 church attendance, see attendance figures church buildings, decoration and design 121–2 237
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The Chosen Ones Church Missionary Society 133, 173 Church of England, see Anglican Church; Anglican Communion Church of England Constitutions Act Amendment Act 169 Church of England Evangelical Council 180 Church of England in South Africa 173 Church of the Province of Southern Africa 173 church planting, see planting churches church politics 55, 71–2, 162–8, 199–201, see also elections Church Record 23 Church Society 180 Church Times interview 178 Church Without Walls: Being Anglican in Australia, A 123 Clancy, Edward (Cardinal) 66, 193 clergy, see also bishops; women, ordination of archdeacons deprived of SC vote 39 Moore College has monopoly on selection 25–6 recruitment and training 131–2 selection of assistant bishops 21–2, 133, 203 survey of confidence among 44 training for, see training Coalition parties xvii ‘Coming Wrath’ 110 Commission on Doctrine 5 Community Relations Commission for a Multicultural NSW 105 consecrations, ‘illegal’ 64–5, 174–5 Constitution of the Anglican Church of Australia 163, 167 Constitutions Act 1902 11 conversational evangelism 124 238
Cornish, John on 2001 election 78, 80 on Anglicans Together 10 on changes to Archbishop’s retirement age 140 on Christine Jensen’s appointment 135 on Deep Impact gathering 100 on evangelical detachment from community 158 on exclusionary Christianity 150 on HG’s crises 35 on loss of diversity 188 on missionary work 145 on Phillip Jensen 137 on PJ’s fundamentalism 106–11 on reaction to Carnley article 61 on relations with Catholic Church 195 on selective use of scripture 118 Costello, Tim 153 Cranmer, Thomas 120 Crittenden, Stephen 95, 120 Curry, George 177–8 Dacy, Marianne 197 D’Arcy May, John 109–10 Datuk Yong Ping Chung 175 Davies, Glenn appointed Bishop of North Sydney 133 candidate for Archbishop 73 moves motion to reaffirm fundamental teachings 67 on PJ’s election to Archbishop 84 support for church planting 64–5 Deasey, Michael 138, 188–9 ‘Deep Impact’ gathering 99–104 denominationalism 69, 147–8 developing nations Anglican attitudes in 27, 174–5
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Index opposition to New Westminster 180 support for churches in 42 Diocesan Executive Board 40, 55–6 diocesan regions, representation of 37 Diocese of Canberra xvi Diocese of Perth xvi Diocese of Recife 181 Diocese of Sydney, see also Synod of Sydney backing for PJ xii executive committee proposals 21 financial assets xiv founded by evangelicals xiii international involvement 173–8 loss of diversity in 187 PJ’s views on 89–90 position in the Church 17–18 relations with Anglican Church in Australia 171–2 relations with Australian General Synod 6–7, 162–8 separatism of 65 Social Issues Executive 159–60 diversity, reduced tolerance for 199–201 Dominus Jesus document 110 Dowling, Owen 5–6 Doyle, Robert 77–8 Drayton, Reg 191 drug rehabilitation, HG’s support for 33 Eames, Robin 184 ecumenism, low priority given to 198 Edwards, Trevor 62, 73, 79 elections, see also church politics ACL preselection for 23 for Archbishop 10–16, 72–8 for Standing Committee 23–5, 39, 55
Elgafi, Gabr 105 embryos, use of 154–6 Employers First 104 enculturation of clergy 26 Episcopal Synod of America 45–6 Episcopalians (US) bishops consecrated for 65–6 considered outside Anglican Communion 182 Global South opposed to 185 moves towards recognising same-sex marriage 174 remain in Anglican Communion 187 Equal But Different 48 euthanasia 33 Evangelical Fellowship 170–1 Evangelicals Now interview 177 evangelism Anglican Church League 23–6 community objections to 103–6 history of 124 Howard Mowll supports 7 in DS xiii, 54–5 in England 178–9 Moore College’s role 151 PJ’s views on 89–90 promoted at Deep Impact gathering 102–4 rejects ecumenism 192 REPA 9 selective use of scripture by 117–18 threat to withhold funding by 180–1 vs. Anglo-Catholicism 67 vs. fundamentalism 107–8, 112 Evensong at St Andrew’s 189–90 evolution theory 69–70, 113 Executive Board for Diocese of Sydney 21, 40, 55–6 experiential religion 112 239
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The Chosen Ones faith, justification by 119 Farr, Malcolm 93–4 fellowship groups 145 financial assets of Sydney Diocese xiv flying bishops proposal 68 ‘Focusing resources for the gospel’ strategy 130–1 Forsyth, Robert becomes Bishop of South Sydney 62–4 campaign for Archbishop 72–7 loses to PJ 79–80 on 1993 election 13 on DS 141 on HG 22, 48, 90 on inter-faith dialogues 198 on opposition to evangelism 190 on Phillip Jensen 138–9 on PJ’s media conference 94 on Prayer Book for Australia 31 on REPA 8, 24 on threats to Church unity 5 reaction to Carnley article 58–9, 61 reconciliation with PJ after election 83–4 Fort Worth conference 41–2 Four Corners on church planting 64–5 Freedom Forum First Amendment Centre survey of media bias 143–4 fundamentalism 106–15 Fundamentalism Overboard 110–11 Fundamentals, The 111–12 funding issues DS’s contribution to General Synod budget 163–4 for missionary work 130–2 threats to withhold funding 180–1 used to impose ideology 188 furniture, positioning of 122, 189 240
‘gagging of God’ 101–2, 105–6, 146–7 Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras 193 General Convention of the Episcopal Church of the United States of America 66, 182–3 General Synod, see Australian General Synod Gilmour, David 19–21, 25 Global South 185 God, lack of discourse about 101–2, 105–6, 146–7 Goodhew, Harry (Archbishop) attempts to broaden clergy selection process 25–6 attendance targets of 103 cancels Christmas dinner with SC 56 candidacy for Primate 56 Cardinal Clancy and 193 chairs conference on ordination of women 19 election of xvii, 14–16 endorses Prayer Book for Australia 29–31 final years as Archbishop 61–70 handling of Gilmour case 19–21 in coalition with conservative bishops 173 leadership plans 16–18 on appointing assistant bishops 22 on changes in Anglican schools 149 on church politics 71–2 on development of ACL 25 on DS 70 on homosexuality 28, 41–2, 66 on ‘illegal’ consecrations 66, 174 on lay presidency 27–8, 32–3, 43, 51–4 on REPA 10 on social issues 33, 40
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Index on women’s ordination 38, 47–9 opposes motion to reaffirm fundamental teachings 67 PJ’s views on 89 predicts splits in Church 31–2 promotes Robert Forsyth to bishopric 62–4 reaction to Carnley article 59 speech before retirement 69–70 supports traditional modes of worship 40 supports women as chaplains 165 Graham, Billy 86–8, see also Billy Graham Crusade Griswold, Frank 66, 183–4 Haire, James 156–7, 191 Halcrow, Jeremy 138, 142 Halifax-Portal Lecture Series 146 Hall, Bruce 64–5 Handley, Ken on diversity 199–200 on evangelical agenda 123 on HG’s early crises 20 on women’s ordination 6, 49–50, 136 Harris, Richard 181 Harris, Tim 14–15 Hayward, Patricia 48 headship doctrine 50, 116–17 Herft, Roger 34–5, 171 hero leader, PJ as xvi Hollingworth, Peter (Archbishop) candidacy for Primate 56–7 on lay presidency 52, 116 perception of DS as separatist 65 Holy Communion, presiding at, see lay presidency homogenous unit principle 145 homosexuality as political stalking horse 114
divisions over 65–6, 166–7, 190–1 General Synod debate on 166–8 HG on 28, 41–2, 66 New Westminster Synod 175, 179–80 PJ on 88, 183–4 Rowan Williams on 176–7 Hooker, Richard 123 Hope, David 28 Horsburgh, Michael on attempts to broaden clergy selection 25–6 on Calvinism 121 on climate of fear 200 on disciplinary options 185 on divisions in Sydney 190 on DS’s priorities 198 on elections 15, 81–2 on fundamentalism 111 on funding strategy 132 on lay presidency 32–3 on missionary strategy 130 on PJ and George Pell 194 on PJ’s theology 123 on rejection of Peter Kemp for bishopric 22 on social justice 159 opposes motion to reaffirm fundamental teachings 67 How Evangelicals Lost Their Way 192 Howard, John attends PJ’s installation 95 called to rethink political issues 153–4 HG cautions over budget cuts 40 PJ critical of views 92–4 PJ meets over human embryo use 154–5 shares office with PJ 85 Howell, Deryck 59, 139 Huard, Geoff 26, 73, 79 241
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The Chosen Ones Huggins, Philip 65, 171 human embryos, use of 154–6 human resources of DS xiv, see also clergy Hurlbut, William 155 ideology 115–24, 187 ‘illegal’ consecrations 174–5 Indigenous peoples formal apology to by General Synod 45 HG’s support for 40 proposed apology to by government 57–8 Ingham, Michael 175–6, 180 International Interfaith Dialogue 198 international involvement 173–8 interviews, see articles; broadcasts; press conferences Iraqi war 156–8 Islamic Council of NSW 105 Jamieson, Penny 28–9 Jarrett, Narelle 135 Jensen, Christine 135 Jensen, Michael 133–4 Jensen, Peter (Archbishop) 84–90, see also articles on PJ; broadcasts by PJ; speeches by PJ accused of being ‘un-Anglican’ 115–17 appointments made by 137–9 approach to political issues 152–60 assistant bishops selected by 133–4, 203 campaign for Archbishop 72–6 Deep Impact gathering 100–4 election as Archbishop xi, 82–4 launches NSW-wide branch of Evangelical Fellowship 170–1 242
MOW meeting 135 on Anglican–Catholic détente 193–4 on Archbishop of Canterbury 177 on attendance targets 144–5 on Billy Graham Crusade 88 on Calvinism 120 on Christianity 88–9 on DS 89–90, 171–2 on fundamentalism 106–7 on funding strategy 132–3 on HG 48, 89 on homosexuality 41, 88, 166–7, 175–6 on international Anglican crises 181–2 on Iraqi war 156–7 on John Howard 92–5 on literal truth of Bible 107–9 on Phillip Jensen’s appointment as Dean 138 on planting churches 68–9 on Rowan Williams 177–8, 186 on social justice 158 on women bishops 68, 166 on women’s ordination 42, 88 opposed to Prayer Book for Australia 88 opposed to use of human embryos 154–6 post-election media conference 91–4 proselytising meeting attended by 197–8 recent appointments by 203 refuses to sign call for Howard ‘rethink’ 153–4 speaking tour of UK 178 suggests David Gilmour for St. Swithun’s Pymble 19 support for by DS xviii
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Index Jensen, Phillip address to ACL dinner 129–30 as Dean of St. Andrew’s 136–9, 188–90 at Billy Graham Crusade 86 candidate for Archbishop 12–14, 73 heads Ministry Training and Development 137–8 HG’s election a reaction against xvii introduces lay presidency into St Andrews 169 on Catholicism 196 on church planting 50–1, 171 on Iraqi war 157 on non-Christian religions 196–7 on Prayer Book for Australia 31 on protecting the faith 168 on Roman Catholicism 192 on salvation for Australians 136–7 opposition to Carnley article 60 supports PJ for Archbishop 78 Jesus PJ’s views on 123 resurrection of 57–61 subordination to Father 116–17 substitution of self for mankind 119 John, Jeffrey 180–2, 185 Judd, Stephen on 2001 election 80 on Blue Ticket formation 23 on Gilmour crisis 20–1 on SC after 1993: 36 Judge, Patricia 48 justification by faith 119 Kaye, Bruce 117, 123, 163 Kell, Peter 203 Kemp, Peter 21–2 Kerkyasharian, Stephen 105
King, Brian 22, 59–60, 133 Knox, David Broughton influence on Robert Forsyth 77 involved with South African Church 173 on Roman Catholicism 193 retirement from Moore College 86 support for evangelism 7 Knox, John 120 Kolini, Emmanuel 65 Kuala Lumpur statement 45–7, 174 Labor Council of NSW 104 Lambeth Conference 1998: 45–7, 65, 167 Laws, Curtis Lee 112 lay presidency as deliberate attempt to split Church 116 as potential for schism 168 early movements for 7–8 HG on 27–8, 32–3, 43, 51–4 Primate Carnley on 57 referred to Appellate Tribunal 32–3 Robert Forsyth on 63, 75, 77 Sydney Synod supports 26–8, 51–2 theological foundations for 121 leadership qualities HG’s 17, 62 Phillip Jensen’s 14 Lee, Ivan 203 Leviathan: The Unauthorised Biography of Sydney xvi Liturgical Commission 29 liturgical reform 17 love vs. truth 67 Luther, Martin 120, 161 Lyall, Graeme 104–5 MacIntyre, John 80, 91 Mackay, Hugh xv–xvi 243
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The Chosen Ones magazine articles, see articles Maori clergy, overseas training proposed for 26 Marr, David 148–50 Marr, Doug 25 Marsden, Samuel 192 Marty, Martin E 110–11 Matthias publishing 13 McPherson, James 140 media, see also articles; broadcasts; press conferences; speeches relations with 101, 138 Media Watch 186–7 Melbourne Synod 153 Miley, Caroline 116 Ministry Training and Development 137–8 Ministry Training Scheme 13 controls leadership of planted churches 69 graduates support PJ for Archbishopric 74 involvement in church planting 64–5 missionary work, see also evangelism; proselytising DS prepares for 144–51 history of 124 in early Church 128–9 in England 4 objectives of 201 PJ’s plans for 103, 127–30 Moore College 13 attempts to break monopoly of 25–6 evangelical role 151 growth of 200 involvement in church planting 64–5 John Woodhouse appointed to 139–40 244
number of graduates xv PJ as principal of 85–6 PJ’s plans for 103 Movement for the Ordination of Women (MOW), see also women, ordination of claims DS is out of step 28–9 confidential meeting with PJ 135 foundation of 5 on Handley’s proposed bill 50 Sydney support for 7 Mowll, Howard (Archbishop) 7, 173 Murray, James 78 Muslim communities, see non-Christian religions National Church Life Surveys 37, 43–4 Ndungane, Njongonkulu (Archbishop) 46 New Christian Right movement 114 New Westminster Synod 175, 179–80 newspapers, see articles; press conferences Nichols, Anthony 17–18 Nicolios, Di 135 Nigerian Anglican Church attendance figures in 174 declines financial support 184–5 severs relations with New Westminster 180 non-Anglican congregations 147–8, 190–1, see also Roman Catholic Church non-Christian religions 103–4, 195–6 NSW Buddhist Council 104–5 NSW Ecumenical Council 109–10 NSW Jewish Board of Deputies 197 NSW Parliamentary speech by PJ 152 NSW Police Force, corruption in xvii–xviii
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Index Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity 123 ordination of women, see women, ordination of Original Province of the Anglican Catholic Church 164 Peers, Michael 66 Pell, George elected to Catholic Archbishopric of Sydney xviii on human embryo use 155 PJ’s relations with 194 public interest in 142–3 petition for clergy to reaffirm fundamental teachings 66–7 Pickard, Stephen 52–3 Piggin, Stuart loses SC seat in 1999: 55 on 1996 elections 39 on Billy Graham Crusade 87 on Blue Ticket group 36–7 on SC’s obstructionism 23 on South African involvement 173 runs HG’s candidacy for Archbishop 15–16 Piper, Reg appointed Bishop of Wollongong 22–3 as candidate for Archbishop 73, 79 boycotts Carnley’s installation as Primate 59 planting churches as missionary work 129–30 continues through 1990s 37 disagreements over 64–5 HG defied on 34–5 opposition to 171 Phillip Jensen supports 137 PJ moves ordinance to promote 68–9 proposal to begin 7 Robert Forsyth cautious on 75
Synod resolution on 50–1 political issues, see also church politics Australia-wide trends xvii fundamentalist involvement in 114 HG’s contribution to 40 joint Anglican-Catholic statements on 193 PJ’s approach to 92, 152–60 Power, Pat 153 Prayer Book for Australia DS opposed to 29–32, 165 PJ’s views on 68, 88 Synod rejects 38–9 prayer books 4, 39, 120 Prayer of Thanksgiving and Consecration 169 press conferences 15, 91–4, see also articles; broadcasts Primate in Australia 56, 172, see also Carnley, Peter; Rayner, Keith Primates’ meeting at Lambeth Palace 183–4 Primmer, Dalba 6 principals, see schools, religious proselytising xii, 197–8, see also missionary work Protestant Reformation history of 161 in England 3–4 PJ on 148 principles reaffirmed 83 selective approach to 118–19 Protestantism after the Reformation 120–1 and fundamentalism 112 in DS 55, 199 protests against Iraqi war 156–7 at treatment of asylum seekers 153 opposition to Carnley article 60 public policy, see political issues 245
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The Chosen Ones Ramsay, Lesley 135 Rayner, Keith (Archbishop and Primate) election to Primate 56 on evangelism in DS 54–5 on homosexuality 46–7, 122–3 on lay presidency 43, 51–4, 116 on potential for schism 168 on Prayer Book for Australia 29–30, 38–9 supports women bishops 37–8 Reflections in Glass 116 Reformation, see Protestant Reformation Reformed Evangelical Protestant Association current agenda 123 foundation and goals 8–11 ‘goes underground’ after 1993: 23–4 supports Phillip Jensen for Archbishop 13 supports PJ for Archbishop 74 view of Robert Forsyth 75 regional diocesan representation 37 Reid, John 11–12 Reinventing Australia xv–xvi Religion Report broadcasts on attendance goals 144–5 on bishops’ role 95 on Calvinism 120 on factionalism 91 on Roman Catholic church 193–4 religious groups, political courting of 114 religious revivals in USA 126 REPA, see Reformed Evangelical Protestant Association Republican Party (US) influenced by fundamentalism 114 Research on Human Embryos Bill 155 Resolution 84 on sexuality 191 246
Richmond, Ray 156–7 Robarts, David 6 Robinson, Donald (Archbishop) on cultural changes 3 opposition to ordination of women 7 successor sought for 10 ‘Vision for Growth’ 103 Robinson, Gene 180–2, 184–5 Rodgers, Margaret 56–7 Roman Catholic Church, see also AngloCatholicism Australian history xiii DS’s relations with 192–5 excluded from PJ’s view of church 148 fundamentalist tendencies in 109–10 reconciliation with 51 Rothman, Stephen 197–8 Rutherford, Graeme 171 sacramentalism, fear of 27 Scandrett, Laurie 6, 25, 150 Scarfe, Janet 29 schools, religious 33, 148–51, 159 scripture absoluteness of 121, 147–8 authority based on 177 literalism in reading 107–9 place in life 119–20 selective use of 117–18 Synod reaffirms authority of 51 Shoalhaven Anglican School 150 Short, David 176 Silk, David 29 Sims, Geoff 92 Singapore ‘illegal’ consecrations 174–5 Smith, Ray 22, 133 social behaviour, improvements in 1960s 87
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Index Social Issues Committee 155 Social Issues Executive 159–60 social justice 158–9, see also political issues South Africa, Anglicanism in 173 Southern Cross (newspaper) ‘Archbishop Writes’ column 146 on 2001 election 78 on media persecution 142 speeches by PJ NSW Parliament 152 speaking tour of UK 178 to Anglican Christmas dinner 159 to Anglican Church League 76 Spong, John Shelby 46, 182–3 Spontaneous Expansion of the Church, The 128–9 St Andrew’s Cathedral furniture positioning in 122 Phillip Jensen appointed Dean 136–9, 188–90 PJ’s installation in 95–6 restoration of 40 St Augustine, doctrine of grace 118 St Helen’s, Bishopsgate 178 St Matthias, Centennial Park 12, 69 Standing Committee of Sydney Synod ACL recovers ground in 39 attitude to Anglican schools 149–50 dominates elections 11 Gilmour crisis splits 20 HG’s style in dealing with 62 in election of Robert Forsyth to bishop 63 membership groups 37 on lay presidency 168–70 political methods used in 55 rejects HG’s assistant bishops 21–2 supports breakaway New Westminster group 175
supports Global South 185 takes over appointment of Executive Board 55–6 State Sports Centre rally to welcome PJ 99–104 Stewart, Al 138–9 Structure of Resurrection Belief, The 61 Suicidal Church, The 116 Sunday program on homosexuality 190–1 Sydney Diocesan Doctrine Commission 193 Sydney Doctrine Commission, seen as heretical 116–17 Sydney Morning Herald 142–4 DS perceives as inimical 142–3 on 2001 election 80–1 on changes in Anglican schools 148–50 on evangelism 104–6 on Michael Jensen’s appointment to Moore College 133–4 on PJ’s refusal to sign ‘rethink’ call 154 on proselytising 197 PJ’s article for 183 PJ’s interviews with 177 Sydney, PJ’s goals for xii Synod of Melbourne 153 Synod of Sydney, see also elections 1993: 17 1995: 26–8, 31–2 1996: 38–9 1998: 47–9, 122–3 1999: 49–50, 50–1 2000: 66–7, 68 2001: 168–9 special meeting in May 2000: 63–4 split by Gilmour crisis 20 synods, see Australian General Synod; Synod of Melbourne; Synod of Sydney 247
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The Chosen Ones Tampa crisis, see asylum seekers Tasker, Peter 133–4 Tay, Moses 65 Taylor, William 179 television programs, see broadcasts Telfer, Brian 34–5 theology vs. ideology 115–24 Thirty-Nine Articles 58 Tong, Robert on 1993 election 14, 16 on 2001 election 78–9 on changes in DS 142 on HG 40–1, 62 on Peter Kemp 21–2 on PJ’s election 84 on Prayer Book for Australia 29 Tooher, Jane 135 Traditional Anglican Communion 164 training, see also Ministry Training Scheme; Moore College for ministry 131–2 of evangelical ministers 201 Phillip Jensen appointed to head 137–8 truth vs. love 67 United Kingdom, see also Anglican Church in England PJ’s speaking tour of 178 United States church attendance in 126–7 fundamentalism in 111–15 Uniting Church 191 Veron, Zac 47 ‘Vision for Growth’ plan 103 Walker, David 195 Watson, Peter (Archbishop) appointed Bishop for South Sydney 21 248
attends Carnley’s installation as Primate 60 supports women clergy 62 urged to boycott Carnley installation 59 Wik legislation, see Indigenous peoples Williams, Rowan (Archbishop of Canterbury) on Jeffrey John 180, 181–2 PJ’s views on 183–4 reaction to his views on homosexuality 176–82 warned about Catholic détente 195–6 women, as bishops 37–8, 165–6 women, ordination of, see also Movement for the Ordination of Women DS attempts to block 163–5 early movements for 5–6 General Synod debate on 166–8 increasing support for 49–50 moratorium on discussion of rejected 42 Parramatta conference on 19 PJ’s views on 68, 88 Primate Carnley raises as possibility 57 resistance to xi Robert Forsyth’s views on 77 women, preaching by 135 Wood Royal Commission into Corruption in the NSW Police Service xvii–xviii Woodhouse, John appointed Principal of Moore College 139–40 encourages PJ to run for Archbishop 73–4 on 1993 election 15 on evangelical Anglicanism 190 on inter-faith dialogues 198
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Index on lay presidency 26–7, 51–4 on Moore College 151 on PJ 94, 139–41 on potential for schism 124 on REPA 9 on social justice 159 reaction to Carnley article 58–9, 60
speech at 2001 election 81 World Christian Fundamentalist Association 112 World Today interviews 157, 181 worship, modes of 40, 44 Yin Lee, Ivan 133
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