I thought that Alan Billings article in the Church Times, ‘What the C of E can learn from the police,’ was both interesting and depressing.

Alan’s basic argument is that the character and culture, and therefore effectiveness, of the police came very close to becoming irreparably and fundamentally damaged due to top down decision making processes which undermined the concept of ‘neighbourhood policing,’ a significant consequence of which was the erosion of trust. Trust was eroded not because the police became less honest, but because they ceased to be embedded and visible.

The genius of the parish system resides in its visibility as an empirically observable phenomenon. A flourishing parish church recognises the importance of visibility. It might be an oversimplification but such visibility comes in three forms: the building, the ministers (lay and ordained), and the mission. For a church to be recognised, valued, and appreciated in the wider community, as a neighbourhood church, all three are both necessary and complementary.

It is these three that prevent the parish church from becoming closed and sectarian; the antithesis of neighbourly. It is these three that promote a welcoming inclusive culture and, give shape to our character. It is these three that allow faith, and the faith community, to become a public good. (This is not to say other faith communities aren’t able to act as public goods but, to say that the Church of England has inherited some highly significant structural advantages). As Alan Billings writes: ‘critically, this model is also well understood by those who are not church goers.’ I would go further and say not only is it understood but that it is, to a significant extent, valued. It may come as a surprise to some but ‘not church goers,’ value our buildings and our ministry, our visibility. In fact they help pay for it.

So here is a critical question: ‘if many of the planned for new congregations are to be lay led and meeting in private homes how are they going to become valued visible communities and therefore public goods?’

Alan argues that ‘no organisation can operate two operating systems simultaneously without distorting its shape,’ (or in my terms, character). Needless to say I agree. I also agree that the Church of England needs to be far more careful with its language. If the general public don’t understand terms such as Oversight Minister we shouldn’t use them. But does any of this mean that there is no place for Fresh Expressions, New Congregations, Grafts, and Plants?

In my view ‘no.’ I think that all of these can add value, but I also believe that they can only work when they are parish initiatives. They won’t work if they are established, through some form of top down, generic, ‘strategic,’ process. If they are developed in parallel to the parish they will becomes differentiators, or even competitors, to the parish. Does the Church of England really want to create an internal market for the allocation of resources? Has it already, without really understanding what its done, established an internal market? I suspect it has.

One of the problems with an internal market is that it, by definition, encourages inward looking and competitive behaviour and an increasingly self referential sense of character and culture, the external manifestation of which is ‘confusion and incoherence.’ Internal markets also encourage categorisation, and categorisation facilitates favouritism. Internal markets, by definition, exist to promote growth in various ‘product lines,’ and decline in others. That’s how they, markets, work and that is why having two ‘operating systems’ will always and necessarily fail. Operating systems aren’t, as Canon Billings has rightly observed, complimentary (a very churchy word I know) but competitive. They are competitive even when their operatives have gone to great lengths to convince themselves otherwise.

So my worry is that the endless drive to manufacture a ‘mixed ecology’ – can an ecology be manufactured – will lead to characterless and a cultureless church; in plain language a lesser and less visible church, a church whose character is the manifestation not of a mature and proven ecclesiology but the product of a ‘strategically’ managed internal market.

The next five years are going to be a crucial time for the Church of England, a truly defining epoch. What is at stake is our character, our culture, and our visibility. In order to both sustain and thrive what is needed is a renewed sense of commitment to the parish, to our buildings, our ministers (lay and ordained), and their mission. Without these we have no real visibility, no defining character, and no animating culture.

The Parish is and must remain the Church of England’s operating system and it doesn’t need an overhaul or a rival, or even a ‘ revitalisation strategy’, but something far more basic: investment and the dismantling of an internal market of our own making.

Let’s put the Parish First.

It is General Synod Election time! Manifestos have been written, videos shot, hustings arranged, and votes cast.

Every politician is keen to emphasise the important of the coming five years, keen to present them as a defining epoch. This is true for Members of Parliament as well as candidates for General Synod. It is probably the case that some five year periods are less defining than others in the overall sweep of things but, I suspect that the coming five year period will be, for the Church of England, truly defining. Forget visions and strategies for something far more important is at stake: our character and our culture.

The Church of England has plenty to wrestle with: LLF, clergy discipline, safeguarding, our governance processes, the role of bishops, the accountability of the Church Commissioners, the Mission and Pastoral Measure, the deployment of our historic assets, the changing shape of ministry and the way we select, train and, equip the baptised for ministry, the relationship between the national church, dioceses and, parishes, protecting the integrity of creation, to name but a few! There is plenty to keep those standing for election busy! The next five year period will be a defining epoch.

All of these issues, however, come back to those two key words: character and culture. What sort of church are we to be, and what are to be the cultural artefacts (policies, regulations, ways of behaving and engaging, language / liturgy) that give the fullest and, most accurate depiction of our character?

The Church of England, put simply, has to chose whether to regress or progress, whether to become more open, transparent, and inclusive and, I would say, more courageous, or to retreat into its self protective shell.

Vision and strategy is important, up to a point, but what really counts and, what will make the bigger difference is character and culture.

All candidates standing for election have a responsibility, a moral responsibility, as a sign of character, to explain where they stand on key issues. Of course as those elected listen and participate in debates their minds must be open to change. But not stating your starting position is not really on.

So to be clear on LLF for example, I hope that at the end of the process same sex couples will be able to have their union liturgically blessed by the church (logically this implies marriage but I believe that there also needs to be a sense of pragmatism).

I have been disheartened that so many candidates are refusing to declare their hand on this and other key issues.

What I wonder does this say about our individual and collective character and culture? What does it say about the need for change?

Let me start by being very bold and clear: I believe in the parish and I believe in the parish system.

In debates at General and Diocesan Synods I have consistently spoken in favour of the parish, asking that in all ‘strategic’ decision making, the parish is thought of first. I am very much a Parish First priest. The parish church at its best is dynamic, flexible, purposeful, and missional. It is in other words vital.

The parish church, by which I mean the ministers and congregation, is best equipped to understand how to speak speak into (proclamation), serve (loving service), and challenge (prophetic voice and challenging injustice) the communities it serves. The parish church is, again at its best, a depository of localised wisdom, and a guarantor of Christian witness. This is not to romanticise the parish but rather to describe the parish ‘at its best,’ or most vital. Of course there is also the sad reality of the parish at its worst. Let’s not romanticise things.

We need to be clear: the parish, at its best, has the capability and the capacity to be a living, breathing, witness for the gospel in context. But this is not to argue that other forms of church – plants, grafts, new congregations, fresh expressions – can’t also play a ‘vital’ role, in context.

In fact, I would argue that these work best when they emanate from the parish with its understanding of the context they serve. I would further argue that they work worst when imposed on (or in) the parish, either through some form of top down ‘strategic’ process, or where the parish feels obliged to launch such initiatives so it looks acceptable on their parish dashboard. And we know that this temptation exists, for we become that which we count, and, of course, there is the very real human tendency to aim for the ticks and not the crosses.

It should be obvious that I am cautious of top down, ‘strategic,’ approaches to solving the ‘problem’ of the Church of England. I don’t think they are in reality particularly ‘strategic’ (whatever this means), nor do I think they will work. And, to be very clear indeed, I think the money that has been spent on SDF initiatives could have been better spent.

I also suspect that some of those charged, in their dioceses, with applying for SDF £’s share these concerns (in fact I know they do). My biggest concern, in many ways, isn’t the money (£32 million, the amount ‘invested’ so far in SDF funded ‘Resource Churches’ allocated instead to every parish in every diocese wouldn’t have ‘saved the parish,’ do the maths!), but the ‘strategic’ and governance process, alongside the fact that dioceses are locked into a game whereby to secure funds, the ‘right’ answer needs to be given to the corporate quiz master.

To borrow a word from the Vision and Strategy work it is these processes (including making the Church Commissioners far more accountable) that must, first, before all else, be ‘revitalised.’ The paradox might just be this: the ‘revitalisation’ of the parish will be a consequence not of a strategic and visionary process, but of a overhaul of our financial and governance processes. I am beginning to think the ‘strategic’ sin of the Church of England is to confuse the cart and the horse! Anyway, something to think about, and something I will argue for if re-elected to General Synod.

The Resource Church (alongside plants) has become something of a lightening rod for those concerned to ‘Save the Parish.’ I get this. But, perhaps somewhat bizarrely, I am fairly relaxed about Resource Churches. My relaxation is partly financial (as explained above) but mostly because I think that over the next five, ten, fifteen years, there will be a significant gap between their original intent and the reality. Management scientists (as they or even we like to call them/our selves) like to talk about the gap between ‘intended’ and ‘realised’ strategy. So here is a prediction: in five, ten, fifteen years time the Resource Church will look very different from its original blue print. Some of them will ‘fail,’ some of them will ‘succeed,’ but all of them will morph. Those who morph well will very possibly end up looking like – you’ve guessed it – parish churches!

So far I have been fairly, but I hope generously, critical of the institutional church, and explained that I am a strong advocate for the parish church. But, here’s my problem: I am getting increasingly anxious and concerned by some of the rhetoric coming out of the STP movement. I went to the STP launch, with the aim of joining the movement, but now find myself wanting to distance myself from it. There are issues where I strongly agree with the movement (the need to revitalise our financial and governance structures for instance) but other areas where I disagree. But my biggest problem is the feel. The movement feels metropolitan and elite. It is beginning to feel like a movement that is far more concerned with, as one commentator put it, the ‘preservation of my parochial practice’ rather than the parish system.

Parishes are for sure discrete entities in their own right, but they are also part of something much bigger, the ‘parish system.’ The strength of the parish system lays in its diversity, flexibility, creativity, and connectivity. A good and vital parish will always feel a deep sense of connection to the geography it serves and to its neighbours. It is the acceptance and celebration of difference, mutual respect, common prayer, the willingness to live alongside those who see things differently and do things differently that turns the parish from a series of localised entities into a living, breathing, life giving, and sustainable, system.

But what brings parishes to life is ministry; the quantity and quality of ministry (lay and ordained). Ministry is the enabling and not the limiting factor. It may be that in some places the ‘old model’ can still work, at least for a while. In my own area I suspect that ministry as is can be sustained over the short to medium term (whether this is a good or not so good thing is a different issue), but there can surely be no doubt that in other areas we do need to think afresh about how ministry is best deployed, for the sake of the parish system.

There is a tendency, in some quarters, to argue against and reject, almost as an instinct, any approaches to ministry that are perceived to be new, trendy, and right on. To be clear I am cautious about some of the branding that has been applied to various posts, but I can see a real value, in the right context, for roles such as the full time dean. I would also want to go further and suggest that some of these roles mark a return to some form of historic norm. In order to preserve and vitalise the parish system it could well be that we need a renewed spirit of collegiality and flexibility, where such a spirit is grounded in history. We need to look reality in the face and understand that preserving the status quo may not be possible or even desirable. Grimly hanging onto to preconceived ideas about how ministry should be deployed and exercised, might well be to bang a nail into the coffin of the system so many are rightly keen to preserve.

The parish system cannot be planned, designed, or even ‘revitalised’ from the top down, nor can it be sustained through myopic parochialism. It’s success can only be guaranteed by something akin to the African concept of Ubuntu which roughly translates as: ‘I am because you are.’

We need each other and we need to belong to a vital system in which all can flourish. We need to find better ways of doing things (financial and governance things) and we need to find better ways of relating. If we fail to do these the consequence will be a hollowed out church, characterised by a portfolio of atomised and somewhat ‘successful’ churches. So here is the irony: the top down planners and ‘strategists’ alongside the more myopic SDP types pose an equal danger; an equal danger to the parish system.

We need to find new and better ways of doing things, starting not with ‘strategy,’ (how many institutions / bodies / organisations find their revitalisation or even salvation in ‘strategy – let’s be honest) but with finance, governance, and relationships. That is if we want to retain a healthy parish system.

Let me finish by sharing my biggest frustration with The Church of England as is: to belong to The Church of England and to exercise ministry in it feels like belonging to a world or operating system where everyone knows the rules but few enjoy the game. (Beware of) Unintended Consequences would be my name for our game.

Perhaps we need to change the rules, so that more can enjoy the game?

O to be a strategist, o to be a leader.

Strategy and leadership rank highly as status goods. Old fashioned words and phrases like management and business administration are so last year. The M.B.A. (I have one – with distinction too -and I have taught on one) has been repurposed. Strategy and leadership are what they have become all about. The good (and they were good) courses that focused on ‘boring’ subjects such as operations, governance, law, and management have been marginalised. Leadership, strategy, and to an extent finance is where it is at. The message is clear: if you want to be a saviour, a corporate messiah, then you need, above all else, to be a leader and strategist. As a brief aside let me pose a question: do you think most corporate and institutional crisis are the result of poor management or poor leadership?

My hunch is that we have become so focussed on ‘leadership’ that we have lost the harder art of management.

Let’s pause and reflect (because that is what we do in the church!) for a second or two and ask ourselves a simple question: how many companies, or charities, or causes, can we name that have been utterly transformed as the result of a top down strategy, delivered without glitch or modification by a cadre of culturally aligned operatives, where the strategy is the fruit of a leader’s intellect and influence? I will start…….

And yet the myth pervades that strategy and leadership, or strategic leadership, is the very thing that is needed to save not only institutions, but the world itself! The myth just keeps on growing (as all good myths do) and is well and truly present in the church, or at least The Church of England.

The trouble with the myth is that is it is credible. It is credible for two reasons; the first is that is desirable. It plays, as all good myths do, with our hearts and minds. The myth invites us to believe certain things about ourselves and others. It invites us to believe that there are saviours (strategic leaders) and the saved (those who place their faith in the strategic leader).

The myth therefore creates a culture of dependency. In some ways it infantilizes both the narrator and the listener. When strategy and leadership, strategic leadership, is elevated to the highest of all status goods the very character of the organisation becomes irreparably changed (and in my view for the worse). The second reason that the myth pervades is that it speaks loudly and clearly to our anxieties; our anxiety that unless we do something everything is going to collapse around us.

Anxiety, collective neurosis, is the fertile fallacy, the very, ground in which the myth of the strategic leader is best sown. Like all good and sustaining myths its roots run very deep and are hard to remove.

Another question: is it fair to our senior leaders to impose on them the mantle of strategy? Why, for instance, would anyone expect a bishop or an archdeacon to be a strategist, or strategic leader? I know we have – through the myth – been conditioned to expect strategic brilliance from our leaders, but is it fair? Fair to them, and fair to us? Do we want our bishops and other senior leaders to be the Jack Welch’s of the ‘church sector’, with all that this would entail? (And post Jack Welch GE got into all sorts of strategic bother. A lesson to all ‘strategic leaders’ is this: choose the timing of your exit well).

Tragically, and it really is a tragedy, turning up for an interview (almost any interview these days), and failing to persuade the panel that what you have to offer is ‘strategic leadership’ is very probably the quickest way back to the car park or railway station and yet another feedback session. The myth can very quickly descend into both farce and tragedy.

Now I have a sneaky perspective to offer: I don’t think many bishops and archdeacons do, in fact, regard themselves as strategists. They are wise enough to know that there really aren’t that many strategic leaders out there and humble enough to know that they probably don’t count amongst them. And yet, and yet, they also know they need to play the game; to pretend in other words, to fake it, so they can make it. So, they come up with ‘strategies,’ strategies that aren’t in reality strategic in any meaningful sense of the term, but are nonetheless moderately persuasive; persuasive enough to get the job and then the money.

And, so, the myth is reinforced and perpetuates. O, and it is financed too! Strategy, leadership, and finance, become beautifully aligned, in support of the myth! I am sure that some ‘senior clergy’ have bought the myth lock, stock, and barrel, after all the myth has a truly psycho-seductive quality to it, but I hope and believe that they are in the minority. The tragedy is that when ‘their’ strategies fail it will always be someone else’s fault.

Another question: how many of our central and diocesan strategies do we expect to materialise (or in the strategic jargon to become ‘realised strategy’?) Let’s be honest on this one, all of us. My answer would be simply this: not many!

Now to be clear, I believe in strategy (after all I am a MBA!), but I don’t believe in top down, generic, strategies. I also don’t believe in the toxic myth of the ‘strategic leader,’ aka the institutional messiah. There are too many case studies out which testify (narrative strategy) to the ability of the ‘strategic leader to reap havoc and accelerate decline even and especially after an initial period of ‘apparent’ growth. I am sure you can name many of them! There are also strategic tools that, when badly used, facilitate the myth.

One such tool is the BCG – Boston Consulting Group – Matrix which asks strategic leaders to categorise products, or even subsidiary companies, as either Stars, Cash Cows, Question Marks, of Dogs. Now I am not suggesting that somewhere in Church House Westminster, or in diocesan offices, a BCG Matrix actually exists (I am not that cynical), but I am gently suggesting that a BCG mindset has penetrated much of our ecclesial and missional thinking. I am suggesting that bishops and ‘their’ priests are endlessly encouraged, through the myth, to look for myriad new and shiny star projects, projects that will just keep growing (until they don’t) whilst regarding the inherited, essentially parish, church as the proverbial cash cow.

The thing about the BCG Matrix is this: the categorisation needs to be bang on the money, the result of hours and hours of detailed and painstaking analysis. It should never be used as a quick rough and ready tool completed on the basis of intuition. It has absolutely no place on a flip chart and should never be used in break out groups. If it is not used well and with ‘strategic skill’ the results will be disastrous: the stars end up not being stars at all, but dogs or question marks, and the cash cows end up as being fit for nothing but the slaughter house. A BCG mindset can lead to very costly mistakes. Its visual simplicity invites sloppy use. It should never be used to support a myth. User beware.

Those ‘stars’ that do rise end up as lone stars, disconnected from any meaningful and wider system, or forced to create their own eco system. The ‘stars’ that fail to rise, that for some reason don’t conform to the model, end up being forgotten about, not counted, because they fail to give credence to the myth. Success is therefore seen ‘through a glass darkly.’ Not counting the failures makes it very easy to turn a question mark into a star.

I think that this is a very real risk for the Church of England. I can see a situation where we end up with a portfolio of apparently successful projects, but not a lot else. And of course if this happens, the blame game starts up with a vengeance (‘if only you had been more like the stars…’), and what is lost can never be replaced. When the cash cow has been milked, but not fed, the slaughter house really is the only place for it to go.

I believe in strategies that emerge over time (Mintzberg) and are the fruit of local initiatives and experimentation (J.B. Quinn); ‘logical incrementalism’ in the jargon. I believe that the institution can play an important part in encouraging and funding local initiatives, backing parish churches, because strategy is normatively best developed from the ground upwards. Harsh as it sounds I cannot think of a single reason for believing in the bishop or archdeacon as a strategic leader. I can think of them as a strategic enabler or encourager but that’s a very different thing.

In simple terms I believe in the parish, not as the subsidiary company there to deliver on a top down strategy, but as the place where (mission) strategy is best developed, and where experimentation and incrementalism, are owned. I believe in the parish first, and the diocese (and national church) second. The diocese and the national church exist to animate and serve. These two, service and animation, should be the marks of national and diocesan leadership, that is if the national church and the dioceses wish to be (arch) diaconal in their approach. Thankfully some dioceses, my own for instance, have in places structures and budgets which encourage experiential and incremental strategies; the sort of strategies that can help revitalise the parish.

Finally, I also believe in the aspiration to be a ‘humbler’ church:

A church which refuses to acknowledge the myth of the strategic leader or institutional messiah as a mark of, and requirement for, office.

A church which steadfastly refuses to place the mantle of failure around the necks of its bishops, by constantly asking them to come up with some shiny new star product, approach, or game changing strategy, in order to be SDF funded.

A church where you no longer have to fake it to make it.

A church which places diaconal rather than ‘strategic’ leadership at the heart of things.

A church that believes that strategy and mission is best worked out at the parochial level and that the job of the ‘centre’ is to remain resolutely at the periphery animating and serving; in a very real and paradoxical sense leading by not leading and strategizing by not strategizing.

In the July 2019 General Synod group of sessions I spoke in the debate on Fresh Expressions. I was glad to vote in favour of a continued endorsement and support for the Fresh Expressions movement twenty years on. It is true that I expressed some reservations, particularly in regard to sacramentality (or more specifically the Sacrament of the Eucharist), in relation to the Fresh Expressions movement, but I did vote in favour of continued support for the ongoing development of a mixed economy (or is it ecology).

I voted in favour because I believed, and continue to believe, that a mono culture isn’t the best way forward. I also believe that New Congregations and New Churches have an important role to play. If we consider cities such as Milton Keynes, my closest city, it is clear that New Churches need to be established. It is, as they say, a no- brainer. But, this time around, unless some considerable concessions are made, I won’t be speaking in favour of, or endorsing, the Vision and Strategy Report.

For me this is a no brainer because what is being put before General Synod is nothing other than a complete redesign of the Church of England, not just structurally, but ecclesiologically and doctrinally. We are being asked to move beyond an essentially complementarian approach in favour of a complete rebuild. To endorse the report is akin to giving planning permission to a whole series of low cost rebuilds without undertaking structural surveys. And I am not prepared to do that.

I think I am right in saying that there are currently something like 12,000 parish churches in the Church of England. The vision and strategy paper suggests that over the next nine years 10,000 New Christian Communities / Churches (what is the essential difference between a distinctively Christian community and a church? ) are established; so, approximately speaking, a 1:1 ratio. These new churches / Christian Communities are apparently going to be predominantly lay led.

The Church of England has always insisted, for good foundational reasons, that those charged with leading churches (Christian Communities) are appropriately trained. In fact, historically, we have also always insisted that church leadership is a vocation that should be tested by an external body, advising the bishop. There are good foundational reasons why the church has always sought to discern vocation.

The way the model works at present, where church leadership remains an essentially clergy responsibility, is that vocations are raised in a local context and tested / discerned by an independent body. There is, therefore, a clear separation between the ‘architect’ and the ‘surveyor.’ Candidates, if ‘successful,’ must then undergo training and formation through a course or a college. The course or college is analogous to the ‘builder.’ This level of separation between church, assessment panel, and training institution (or between architect, surveyor, and builder) is designed to ensure the strength and stability of the structure, or in church language, the body.

The building process is for sure slow, painfully slow at times, but on the whole it gives the best chance of a good outcome. Fast tracking, building in a hurry, building on the cheap, will, I suspect, lead to cracks, underpinning, and perhaps even demolition. If we are to build new churches, lay led churches, we need to make sure that we do so well.

But identifying, training, forming, and equipping 10,000 new church / congregational / community leaders, through a simplified and hurried process, isn’t my biggest structural (ecclesiological) concern.

Just imagine for a second or two that we manage to build or establish 10,000 shiny new lay led churches (I know its difficult!), we will probably need to start off by seeking to build many more, say 40,000 (One for the Mouse, One for the Crow, One to Rot, and One to Grow, or Matthew 13, 1-23). That’s an awful lot of lay leaders who we will have led to fail. We could, of course, be even more pessimistic and draw on the story of the Healing of the Ten Lepers (Luke 17, 12-19). So how are we going to equip those hurriedly trained leaders when the likelihood is that they will fail; that their chances of ‘success’ are somewhere between one in four and one in ten? I am only asking based on ‘biblical numbers.’

It doesn’t look like a very humane strategy, does it? As a church could it be that we are going to have to spend an awful lot of time ‘underpinning’ the faith of those who, because we have tried to build things in a hurry, we have led down the garden path?

But, how we ‘underpin’ the faith of those who we may well be leading to fail isn’t my biggest structural concern. My biggest structural concern is simply this, that if we are successful (which I find really hard to imagine) in establishing 10,000 New Churches / Christian Communities, they will be under a completely new set of building regs. What we end up building will, in fact, bear literally no resemblance to the Church of England as inherited.

The Church of England is a church in the reformed catholic tradition. This means that we take things like orders, sacraments, and liturgy seriously. In fact these three are central to our understanding of what it means to be a church, or Christian community; reformed and catholic. We can’t get away from this, and neither should we try to do so. This doesn’t, of course, mean that the laity aren’t valued, honoured, and necessary. Nor does it mitigate against lay leadership in the Church of England. But it does mean that if approximately half of Church England Churches / Communities are under lay leadership, and as a consequence the Sacrament of Holy Communion or Eucharist isn’t a defining characteristic of congregational life then then whole character of the Church of England, a character that is enshrined in both canon law and the liturgy, will have changed; in my view for the worse and, to the detriment of mission and evangelism. I don’t think we are free to jettison Holy Communion or the Eucharist as one of the defining characteristics of week-by-week communal (community) life; not if we are serious about remaining a church both reformed and catholic.

The liturgy – ‘it is our duty and our joy….’ makes the centrality of the sacrament clear, as do the Canons of the Church of England: Canon B14 mandates that ‘the Holy Communion shall be celebrated in every parish church at least on Sundays and principal Feast Days, and on Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday.’ for sure the canon also provides for dispensations, but what it does is embed (in law!) is that celebration of, and participation in, the Sacrament of Holy Communion is a defining and normative feature of Anglicanism, as embodied through the Church of England, at the local ecclesial and communal level.

Unless, as part of the vision and strategy, lay presidency (which I would strongly resist) is also on the table what we are being asked to support at General Synod is not a vision, or even a strategy, but a complete and utter rebuild of the Church of England. My plea to all General Synod members is to view the debate in these terms. If an ecclesiological and doctrinal rebuild is what you want then, of course, argue in favour of the report, but if it isn’t then please argue against. But, let’s not pretend that this debate is primarily about Vision and Strategy.

My concern is that we are being asked to endorse a way ahead without having undertaken any real form of structural survey and having appointed firms of local builders, who have little or no sensitivity to the ecclesial landscape on which they are building. I have no wish to give planning permission to such a scheme.

I would like to endorse a mixed economy (or ecology) but the nature of the existing planning application means I can’t. If the planning application is revised, or amended, in the light of a thorough and painstaking surveyor’s report, a report that regards the retention of our reformed catholic heritage as sacrosanct, then maybe, in the future, I can.

I have no desire to take sides in an ecclesiological culture war, so let me be upfront: I believe in Fresh Expressions, New Congregations, and Church Plants. I really do.

Over the last couple of years my mind has been changed through the patient ministry of my diocesan bishop, diocesan secretary, director of mission, and others. I am sure that I have exasperated them at times, but overall they have perhaps been more right, even as I have been more wrong.

But, here’s the nub I also believe in the parish church. In fact I believe in it passionately. I have been told that I am ‘instinctively a parish priest.’ I am not quite sure, however, how I feel about this: is such a statement, in these times, a compliment or a criticism? Is to be called ‘instinctively a parish priest’ to be ‘damned with faint praise?’

I ask because the reports in the Church Times last Friday (2nd July), ‘Vision and Strategy update for Synod’ and ‘Welby endorses urgent plan for church-planting,’ don’t big up or stress the continuing centrality of the parish churches, as places of mission. Rather the reverse, in fact. The Parish Church is to be ‘reimagined.’

Now let be clear: in saying that I am passionate about the parish church, I am not dewy eyed about the parish church. Of course there are parish churches that are really struggling and, of course, there are parish churches that will not sustain. But, equally, there are many parish churches that are not only sustaining but thriving. For many parish churches the ‘mission strategy’ is built on creativity, adaptability, and imagination.

Overall, net-net, the parish church is both good and necessary, and should be supported, and yes ‘bigged up.’ The Parish Church is able to do things – pastoral things – that the Fresh Expression or New Congregation will struggle to do, for the very straightforward reason that the parish church exists for all. The parish church requires a congregation, a worshipping and discipling community, but its distinctiveness is that it is explicitly and intentionally parochial. The parish church requires a congregation – hopefully a vibrant congregation – but it can never be characterised solely through reference to the congregation.

The parish church is therefore not limited to serving those who attend. For the parish priest ‘church or congregational leadership,’ is a subset of parish ministry, of a much broader leadership role; an important subset for sure, but a subset nonetheless. I do wonder whether the incessant focus on ‘church (or congregational) leadership’ is a good thing? Is it a bit reductive? And, crucially, could it end end up undermining mission and evangelism? I genuinely think that these are a set of questions worth pondering.

The way that the report was presented in the Church Times has left many parish types feeling down and despondent, perhaps for obvious reasons. Now, to be fair this may all be in the reporting, but prima faca, the tone was triumphalist, and the statements made absolutist in nature. My fear is that the Vision and Strategy work is inadvertently creating cultural conflict, igniting unnecessary cultural battles.

The Bishop of Islington is quoted as saying ‘it is always new churches that are best at reaching younger generations, the unchurched, minority groups, and groups of people not seen in existing churches.’

I have one straightforward question and, an observation. My question is this: Is it true?

My observation is that statements such as this position the inherited, traditional, parish churches as palliative care units (underfunded ones at that), capable of ‘nothing other than placating the needs of the elderly,’ (a quote from a twitter feed). The implication is that a mentality pervades that ‘anything good has to be built from scratch.’

If we are to be a humbler church , then perhaps, in order to avoid deepening divides, ramping up the level of parochial anxiety, and increasing the stakes in the already existing culture wars, the claims of some of those charged with leading change need to be a little more self-effacing and modest?

The Vision and Strategy Group seem to have settled on a number of 10,000 new (predominantly lay led) churches by 2031. Leaving aside the thorny ecclesiological issue (for another day) of being a ‘lay led’ church, in the reformed-catholic tradition, (and the fact that the vision stands in tension with earlier GS reports – reports which were evidenced based) the number itself is highly problematic.

Now, I know that the authors are keen to suggest that the number isn’t a specific target, more of an aspiration and a cypher, but the problem is that aspirations, principles, cyphers, and even ‘issues’ tend to suffer from ‘mission creep’ and end up becoming policies (or even strategic goals!), and then the blame game starts and the house becomes ever more divided against itself.

The number needs jettisoning and jettisoning fast, it needs to be kicked into the long grass, before synod, never to be found; that is if the church wants to avoid further escalation in the culture wars, and in the inevitable and ensuing blame game. If we are to remain united then let’s get rid of the numbers, especially the big round incredulous numbers.

Before we let this one go let’s do a little maths, just to scale how bizarre and demotivating the number is: 10,000 new churches equals 3 new churches a day (including weekends) for the next ten years! Not doable! The number, as can be seen, is undermining of the very vision it seeks to support! Let’s just get rid of it for the sake of the vision and strategy (and the £1 million new disciples ‘target’ as well). To be clear I don’t, per se, have a problem with the use of numbers, but if we are to use numbers to motivate, let’s at least do so scientifically and realistically. Let’s build the numbers from the ground upwards, for this is the only way they can make any sense whatsoever. It is also the only way to achieve a sense of shared ownership and buy in.

A top down number, especially a very large well rounded top down number, isn’t, by definition, a visionary or strategic number. It just can’t be.

Vision and strategy, if they are to be ‘realised,’ aren’t the consequence of abstract thought processes, or even group deliberations (however diverse the groups), but, rather, the fruit, of hard work, critical analysis, and nitty-gritty engagement with both people and data. Vision and strategy doesn’t start with a number, but can, and often does, end up with a number: a real and achievable number. A number that is rarely a round number!

If a number is to be used to support, animate, and give ‘fresh’ expression to a strategy, it needs to be a real and credible number (a strategic number, in other words), arrived at through a strategic process; a process that turns aspiration into reality, dreams into vision, vision into strategy; real and empirically grounded strategy. The good news is that determining the strategic number needn’t be too hard, or even time consuming. The Church of England has the resources to determine the ‘right’ number in fairly short order, if it wants to do so. To do so would add credibility to the vision.

I don’t want to comment on the quotes attributed to Canon McGinley (‘limiting factors’) or indeed to the Archbishop of Canterbury but instead to return to the Bishop of Islington’s quote which concludes with the really quite astonishing claim that ‘church planting is the most effective methodology on the planet of growing the church.’

Now I might be an over sensitive instinctive parish priest, but is this statement either true or helpful?

Over the last fifteen months or so many parish churches have stepped well and truly up to the plate feeding a multitude of people, physically, spiritually, and digitally. The parish church has reached out to the unchurched, the previously churched, minority groups, and the excluded. Growth is, of course, a contested term but nonetheless the ‘parish church movement’ has acted diacionally, missionally, and evangelistically through the pandemic. Methodologically speaking it has done so as an empirical and observable phenomena.

My other problem with the reference to methodology is that comparing the parish / inherited church to new churches or congregations is methodologically highly problematic. Let me offer an analogy:

The parish / inherited church can be regarded as akin to the BBC. As a public service broadcaster the BBC’s successes and failures are there for all too see. The Beeb’s viewing numbers are in the public domain. The quality of its offering is a matter of public debate. Scrutinising the BBC is an ongoing and continuous process. For the BBC there is really very little shade it stands, permanently exposed, in the heat of the Midday Sun. The same is more or less true for the parish church. As a ‘public service’ church its successes and failures are there for all to see. Fresh Expressions, New Congregations, even New Churches (especially those without their own buildings) by contrast, operate in the shade, at least initially. They are more akin to, say, Netflix, which in the popular imagination is the most successful digital entertainment channel ‘on the planet.’ There is, however, an awful lot of myth surrounding Netflix. Not of all its offerings are successful, but it enjoys the structural advantage, unlike the BBC, of being quietly able to both hide and drop its failures, of which there are many. The successes therefore stand out, and the failures, well, they are quietly placed out of sight and out of mind, The myth further suggests that Netflix is growing rapidly – as the most successful entertainment channel ‘on the planet – but this is a fertile fallacy, for Netflix is struggling to entice new subscribers.

My plea to the Church of England’s visionaries and strategists is simply this: make sure that your points of comparison are methodoligically valid, and beware of exhibiting ‘survivor bias;’ the tendency to ignore / discount (or even not count!) ‘failures,’ and only count – for methodological purposes – successes. Presumably many of the 10,000 hoped for New Churches will ‘fail?’ Let’s count the failures as well as the successes before ascribing qualitative statements to the strategy (i.e. ‘the most effective methodology on the planet of growing the Church.’)

Is there enough in the BBC – Netflix analogy to render it useful in deliberations on the future Vision and Strategy for the Church of England and specifically in relation to the relationship between the parish church and New Congregations, New Churches and Fresh Expressions. Clearly I think there is!

Let me end where I began: ‘I believe in Fresh Expressions, New Congregations, and Church Plants. I really do. But I also believe in the parish church. In fact I believe in it passionately.’ As a missionally minded parish priest I want nothing more than to see the church ‘grow in number and in holiness.’ I strongly believe, that a bigger church is capable of making a bigger difference (I am thoroughly Bayesian in this respect and in others too – let the reader understand!). I also believe that we are called on to be a humbler church and for me this implies being a more modest church, a church which places less stress on big round numbers, absolute statements, and false comparisons. If we are to be a compassionate church, one that takes seriously the well-being of its members (clergy and lay alike) we need to recognise that every part of the church faces serious challenges as the way ahead is discerned and, we need to be sympathetic to the fact that the parish church – as the ‘public service church’ – has nowhere to hide. It is duty bound to operate in the full glare of the Midday Sun.

Last Saturday something remarkable happened: Harlequins won the premiership title. They beat Exeter 40-38 in what the commentators described as ‘the best final ever.’ Harlequins played with guile, finesse, and genuine joy. Their esprit de corps was something to behold. To beat Exeter, the most ruthless and efficient of teams, the existing champions, was a truly remarkable achievement. What made it even more remarkable was that they rose to the summit of the English game having thrown away the traditional model of hierarchical leadership.

Harlequins, you see, don’t have a ‘Director of Rugby,’ (the equivalent of the manager or gaffer in football). In January, when they were languishing towards the bottom of the league, they sacked their Director of Rugby, Paul Gustard. Gustard had been with Harlequins for for three years and had previously been part of the England and Saracens coaching set ups. Gustard came to Harlequins with pedigree and form and with a mandate to return Harlequins to the top of the club game, and he ‘failed.’

In appointing Gustard Harlequins had followed ‘the’ traditional way of thinking about sports leadership (or perhaps leadership in general): that at the top of every pyramid must sit a charismatic figure, a figure who is also a brilliant ‘strategist’ (whatever strategist means), skilled in creating an organisational culture, establishing a ‘game plan,’ and recruiting appropriate people; people who will think, behave, and play in a certain way. And, it didn’t work!

Let’s pause and reflect (very churchy I know, to pause and reflect, but there again I am a Church of England type) and ask a straightforward question: To what extent may the notion of the hierarchical leader, skilled at creating an effective mono culture and delivering on a predetermined strategy, through a group of carefully appointed individuals, be something of a romantic myth, a myth popularised by the likes of Jack Welsh? Okay: a supplementary question: to what extent do the organisations we serve and work within (including the church) promote a Messiah Complex, in our ‘senior’ leaders?

When Harlequins sacked Paul Gustard they decided to adopt a different model of leadership. They – and by now ‘they’ had come to mean the entirety of the body corporate – decided to play by a different set of rules. They decided not to appoint a Director of Rugby, a maestro or ‘messiah,’ and instead to diffuse leadership. They looked at the organisation and asked ‘why not try (excuse the awful pun) something a bit different, after all what have we got to lose?’

Leadership became something that was shared and distributed across the group, with the emphasis on setting the players free to play the sort of game they wanted to play, using their intelligence and initiative. Intelligence and initiative were no longer to be regarded as top down strategic assets, passed down from the maestro, through the coaches (or senior team), to the players.

Often in professional rugby the players are akin to pieces on the chess board; there to be moved around the field of play, according to the Director of Rugby, in line with a prescribed and predetermined strategy (game plan). In this sense the Director of Rugby has become ‘the’ player. I am sure that this type of approach happens in other institutions such is the strength of the myth and the cult of the maestro/messiah figure (figures which always seem to disappoint and in the end whose careers or vocations seem to end in failure’).

I get that for good governance reasons institutions need to have functional hierarchies and that certain posts and positions can’t, a la Harlequins, be simply ditched. The Church of England can’t for instance ditch her bishops, and many organisations require a C.E.O. and a Chair. But what if hierarchies were focussed more on the functional and less on the strategic? Maybe, just maybe, results would be different? Perhaps, better, more ‘successful,’ even? I have this sneaking suspicion, you see, that what Harlequins really let go of was not the role, but the myth (and its resultant set of complexes).

When Gustard left what Harlequins were left with was a group of young and relatively inexperienced coaches (Adam Jones, Nick Evans, Jerry Flannerry,etc), a general manager (Billy Millard), a handful of ‘senior’ players (Danny Care, Mike Brown etc) and a whole host of exciting youngsters, such as Alex Dombrandt and Marcus Smith. Together the inexperienced coaches, the senior players, and the exciting youngsters determined to have a go and to do things (leadership and strategy) differently, and it worked!

We don’t know what Harlequins will do in the future – will they revert to type, will they eventually appoint a Director of Rugby, will they be able to keep on resisting the myth of the maestro, or messiah? Or, will they keep working off a model of diffused leadership and a game plan which simply stresses the importance of making it up as you go along, in response to the the attacking opportunities and defensive necessities as they occur in real time?

My final questions are these: what we can we, in our institutions, learn about leadership and strategy from the Harlequins class of 2021? Do we have the courage (and perhaps humility) to exercise leadership and strategy differently? Can we jettison the leadership myth? And, finally, can we recapture the corporate joie de vivre modelled for us by Harlequins this (half) season.

‘We need a change in culture.’ A phrase, sentiment, or some version thereof, oft expressed at last week’s General Synod.

Now, to a large extent, I happen to agree the church does need to undergo a cultural change, but the problem is that I don’t really know what this might mean in practice.

I am not sure that in a famously diverse church a single mono all surrounding culture, a culture that each and every church, up and down the land, is either capable of, or content to, inhabit and express, is feasible. I am not sure that some, perhaps many, churches and para church organisations would even find it desirable and acceptable, when it gets down to the nitty-gritty.

For that’s the thing about cultures: they only become meaningful when they inhabited and expressed.

The problem for the Church of England is that for centuries different types of church have belonged to it differently. Now you could argue that this difference is definitive of our culture, but what you would also need to acknowledge, if you take this stance, is that the Church of England has a ‘weak and affiliative culture,’ rather than a ‘strong and binding culture.’

So, when we talk of cultural change the first question that needs to be asked is what sort of culture is it possible for the Church of England, and her churches, to inhabit: a weak and affiliative culture or a strong and binding culture? This is an essentially managerial (and in the church ecclesial) question; the ‘first order’ question.

It is also important to remember when we talk of culture – especially corporate culture – that culture is a consequential expression of organisational design, beliefs, and assumptions. The greater the diversity of belief and practice built into and accommodated within the whole, the ‘weaker’ and ‘less binding,’ but more ‘open’ the culture. And the reverse is also true: the narrower the range of beliefs and practices accepted within the whole the stronger, more binding, but less open the culture. Culture, it is important to remember, is a consequence of design.

In straightforward terms all this means is that a cultural change must be built on and follow on from changes in assumption and belief. Culture is for sure expressed through language, rituals, symbols, artefacts, and procedures, but trying to change the ‘expression’ without first changing the systemic beliefs, assumptions, and practices, is to put the cart before the horse: credos must always, and necessarily, precede ethos.

So when we talk of cultural change could it just be that we really mean is doctrinal change? Or even organisational and structural change? Or, could it mean, or imply, that what we are really hoping for is a change in tone without doing the far harder work of challenging our assumptions, beliefs, and practices at every level as the precursor to cultural change?

I too want to see a change in culture. The problem is that in a famously diverse church, one which operates a a loose federation, and where in many cases different groups operate as franchisees, I am not sure that an all defining, centrally managed, culture is really possible, or desirable.

But the bigger problem is that changing the culture (as distinct from branding the product) will necessitate a change in beliefs, assumptions, structure, and language: doctrine, ecclesiology, and liturgy in other words.

Are we up for it? I really am not sure.

Can a change in culture take place separate in isolation to prior doctrinal, ecclesiological, and liturgical changes? No, not really.

Culture is the consequence of and not the catalyst for change.

On Thursday General Synod met, with one purpose, to debate a motion and a series of amendments to allow General Synod to meet virtually during these strange, Covid Times.

The meeting was in many ways surreal. It was well organised but, obviously, very different. We were all masked up, a one way system was in place but what was missing was the opportunity to engage in coffee room chats, or for the various sub groups within synod to gather and strategize. In some, perhaps many, ways, this felt healthy (even though the social aspect of synod is important). It felt as though, even though we were few in number, we were ‘one body,’ simply trying to focus on doing the right thing, seeking to reach a consensus for the ongoing good of all.

The way the room was arranged was also very different. We all had allocated seats, and were asked to enter the chamber through a designated door. What struck me about the physical geography of the chamber was that the absence of block seats reserved for the bishops. This struck me as a healthy development.

I hope that when synod is once again able to meet physically attention will continue to be paid to how the chamber is arranged and where people sit. It felt more equal, less cliquey, perhaps more authentically synodical; perhaps less rarefied, and intimidating. Yesterday’s meeting was characterised by a marked lack of pomposity. Due reverence was shown to all, on equal terms. Indeed one speaker (who spoke twice and, who hadn’t spoken from the floor during the previous five years) commented on how she found the ‘old fashioned synod’ to be intimidating; a place where voices could easily be suppressed.

I also enjoyed the joint presidential address, which appears to be becoming something of a synodical norm; a norm which reinforces a desire for unity and collaborative ministry. Again, this is something that I hope continues. Both archbishops spoke with passion, and both were reflective, talking of lessons learned. Their joint address was also confessional and conciliatory in nature. Archbishops Steven and Justin accepted that mistakes had been made over the last six months; thank you.

They were also keen to stress two other important points:

First, that the church is changing and that it is highly probable that a return to previous norms can’t, and won’t, happen. I think they are right. There are aspects of church life that we may all have to grieve for, but let go. What the future will look like is, of course, unknown.

One of the phrases that I have been using lately is that ‘we are all Franciscans now.’ This doesn’t mean that we all now need to become Franciscan Tertiaries, adopting an intentionally focused Franciscan Spirituality (although for some it might), but simply that we all need to hear and recognise a voice asking us to ‘rebuild my church.’ What this rebuilding will look like will, of course, be dependent on context (which strikes me as a thoroughly Franciscan insight).

I think that I would also add that such rebuilding needs to take place at the institutional and not just the local, or parochial, level. Do we need a smaller, more flexible, and to use one of the words used in several speeches more ‘nimble’ centre? Do our diocesan structures also need to be rebuilt? In my own view the whole church, at every level, needs rebuilding. This will be a huge challenge, and a challenge which will require the letting go of cherished ways of thinking, doing, and above all else relating. Perhaps this is also the time to reappraise a preference for some of the generic strategies that have been prized and favoured over the last few years?

The Archbishops, both at synod and in other places, have reflected on the parish and have concluded that ‘the local church is the centre.’ For me this statement carries deep significance and represents a return to a, perhaps forgotten, truth.

But, it is also a statement which, if true, begets a challenge: if the local church really is the centre what does this mean in organisational, strategic, relational, and yes, financial terms? In many ways the financial implications of COVID on the ‘local church’ which is ‘the centre’ is my biggest fear. Working out the implications of the archepiscopal observation in relation to national and diocesan strategies is surely now an urgent task? Indeed, I think it is even worth reflecting on whether national and diocesan strategies, in the times we find ourselves in, can even be real things! I genuinely have my doubts.

Yesterday our discussions were characterised by gentleness. The decision that synod can meet online means that the Church of England can discuss important issues. For me the most important issue as we seek to rebuild the church is working out the implications of the statement that ‘the local church is the centre.’

As we continue to reflect, synodically, on this statement may we do so with broad minds, compassionate hearts and gentle tongues so that together, we can play our part in ‘rebuilding my church.’

I don’t suppose that there is a single one of us who hasn’t, at some stage, been ever so slightly elastic with the truth. We are all capable of concealing the truth and stretching the truth. We are all guilty of having an inconsistent and erratic relationship with the truth. In the face of anxiety, difficulty, danger and stress we can all, like Simon Peter, deny the truth. We are all capable of scripting an alternative reality. As Hugh Laurie maintained when playing House, ‘everybody lies.’

If this is true – which I hold it to be – should we be too concerned with truth telling? And, should we hold those who have an overly elastic relationship with truth to account? If we start holding others to scrutiny, or account, are we being overly judgemental for, after all, ‘everybody lies?’ One more question: if holding others, perhaps even significant others, to account is permissible, who should act permissively?

The answer to my last question in some ways feels rather obvious: it depends, and the dependency is context. If our children are telling outright lies, or just stretching things, then presumably it is the parental right to hold them to account? If a spouse cheats on their partner, breaking a sacred vow, then the partner presumably has the right to hold them to account? The situations I have described have a fairly obvious response mechanism for the context is a closed, or at least relatively closed, essentially private, system.

Where the elasticity of truth is stretched within an open system, or public system, things get a little bit more complicated, for the harm caused is less personal and direct. The harm caused is instead systemic, and the problem with systemic harm is that it goes viral, its effects spread uncontrollably.

As yet there is no vaccine capable of inoculating against systemic harm. Wishful thinking and carefully choreographed messaging, in the absence of a vaccine, are the only strategies available in seeking to reduce the symptoms of public harm.

The trouble with wishful thinking and choreographed rhetoric is that in the spin doctor’s mind they become the truth. Truth becomes so elastic that anything that approximates to reality becomes the truth, in the spinners mind. The spinner of truth stands in solidarity alongside that great elastician, Pontius Pilate, and asks ‘what is truth?’ A script is then written to support that truth. Truth becomes a matter of expediency and a mechanism for the retention of power. It is not a very pretty set of propositions.

So, despite accepting that ‘every body lies’ who should hold the spinners to account when truth is stretched within an open and essentially political system? Should, say the bishops, those men and women (in the C of E) who stand in Peter’s line? My answer to this is a resounding ‘yes.’ Because the bishops stand in Peter’s line they fully understand the reality that ‘everybody lies,’ and they know that lies, distorted truths, narratives retro fitted to render the implausible plausible, go viral and the result may well be death.

The bishops, you see, in criticising the masters of spin aren’t doing so from a place of moral superiority, still less perfection, but as men and women who stand in the shoes of the Peter who three times lied; as men and women who fully know the consequences of sacrificing truth, real truth, public truth, on the flimsy altar of political expediency; as men and women (even though ‘everybody lies’) who have been consecrated into the truth, to speak the truth (cf John 17, 19), and especially to those who exercise viral power.