I live a few yards from my parish church, and our affable vicar is a near neighbour. I don’t envy him his job, cushy though it may seem, with regular services on Sunday mornings and Wednesday afternoons and the rest of the week to minister to his dwindling flock. As a recent survey of 1,200 Church of England clerics revealed, three quarters of them believe that Britain can no longer be described as a Christian country. Being a vicar today must be rather like trying to push water uphill. How times change.
Church of England past
More than 50 years ago, as a young Church of England congregant, confirmed in my early teens, I would regularly robe up and kneel alongside the then vicar in that same church, acting as altar server at the early morning communion service. We were conveniently reminded of what we were expected to believe, because every Sunday we recited the creed and so made a public declaration of faith. I must admit that I enjoyed the ritual more than the prayers and went with the flow, rather than thought deeply about what I was saying.
As I grew up I lost interest in religion, and like most people, found Sundays to be a good day for shopping, gardening or visiting family and friends. Of course the much of the bible is allegory, but I could no longer bring myself to recite words I no longer took seriously, such as: “on the third day he rose again and ascended into heaven.” Really!
Church of England present
My experience is far from unusual, as that survey of clerics showed. More than 90% thought it likely that numbers attending church would continue to fall, although one in four thought the rate of decline would slow; perhaps because when all that are left are the diehards, only infirmity or death will loosen their grip on the altar rail. A Church of England census conducted in 2019 showed that of the 690,000 people went to church each week, 30% of them were over 70.
More than three times that number go to church at Christmas; a reminder that while Christianity might be in decline, the tradition of singing carols in church on Christmas morning remains a popular way to bridge the gap between putting the turkey in the oven and going to the pub. They say that wherever you are in East Anglia, you can see a church spire, and with 26 bishops sitting in the House of Lords, Anglicanism is imprinted on our national psyche. But we cannot, in these liberated times, turn the clock back, nor should we.
Is liberalism eclipsing the Church of England?
Back in the sixteenth century church attendance was compulsory: under the Act of Uniformity, to miss church meant risking a fine. What was worse, your boss was almost certainly in church every Sunday and if he saw you were missing, would make you feel very uncomfortable on Monday morning. That same Act tied clergy to the Book of Common Prayer, so everyone was literally singing from the same hymn sheet.
Today it’s hard to imagine living with such strict rules, and by the time the 1558 Act of Uniformity had been repealed in 1650, a swathe of dissenting rival churches had sprung up, among them the Quakers who refused to take oaths, doff their hats or otherwise submit to clerical or other authority. Today I think the threat to the Church of England is not from dissenters, but from the fundamentalist Christian groups who pack their churches with cheerful music, enthusiastic singing and often very emotional personal proclamations of faith – though some might argue that such groups are a challenge to the Church rather than a threat.
So the Church of England finds itself caught between a rock and a hard place. The gay marriage debate showed that some want to liberalise and go with the flow, while others want to adopt a more biblical, traditional approach. Theology certainly has proved to be more durable than any passing fad or fashion. There is a danger, as a friend said to me once, that the church could try too hard to be trendy, and liberalise itself out of existence.
Why I left the Church of England
Having been a regular churchgoer in my teens, I stopped attending because I could no longer really believe what I was expected to say in church. Where I’ve ended up, and why, might suggest a way forward for our otherwise beleaguered state church.
As I went through life, with all of its ups and downs, I started to ask myself those big questions about the meaning of life. Looking back I’d describe this as a growing awareness of spirituality as a concept. I’m sure I’m not the only person to search for meaning.
Then one Sunday morning I woke with an overwhelming compulsion to attend a Quaker Meeting, probably because I’d been reading about how early Quaker entrepreneurs had been fair and ethical in times when many hadn’t. With some trepidation I drove into Norwich and walked down to the Quaker Meeting House. I discovered that Quaker worship, free of liturgy, ministers, singing and kneeling fitted me like a glove. Now, living in Suffolk, I walk past the parish church on Sunday mornings, turn right, and join my Quaker Friends for my weekly fix of contemplative silence.
Can the Church of England rise to the challenge?
It is a basic human need to feel that you belong, yet people today are increasingly isolated and often lonely. Until relatively recently, we all lived in small communities and knew our neighbours. People helped each other along and treated employers, doctors and the clergy with some deference and respect. There is a gap in many people’s lives that the Church of England could fill, but I wonder if it can find the sweet spot between populism and theology, and regain its lost popularity. Somehow, I don’t think the Church of England is yet radical or bold enough to rise to that challenge.
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