Category: Women Bishops

Pastoral Fallout: a Trans Perspective on Women Bishops

11/26/2012

The Reverend Dr. Christina Beardsley is an ordained priest in the Church of England, is a board member of Changing Attitude (which works for full LGBT inclusion in the Anglican Communion), and has served for a number of years as a hospital chaplain. In the piece below she reflects on last week's vote by the General Synod of the Church of England which fell just shy of allowing women to become bishops there. As she notes, because the various members of the Anglican Communion have somewhat different governing structures, women already are bishops in other parts of the Communion (e.g. Australia, the United States and, most recently, South Africa). Her comments on the church's relation to equality legislation also reflect the fact that the Church of England is a state church. As we reflect with Tina, may we stand in solidarity with all in the Church of England who are struggling, who are angry, who are in pain.

“Well, and which way did you vote?” The lady who asked me was sitting with an elderly friend in the High Dependency Unit of the hospital where I work. It was her first remark to me as I introduced myself as a hospital chaplain, the day after the General Synod’s recent vote on women bishops.

People are angry at the outcome – and rightly so. I explained that I hadn’t had a vote – not at the Synod anyway, but that as a member of a deanery synod I had voted in the clergy elections: ‘and it was passed in the House of Clergy’ I said encouragingly. She seemed to calm down then, knowing that I was ‘on side’. I think that it has probably shocked many women to see television clips of women arguing against the consecration of women as bishops. This lady clearly needed to check me out.

It wasn’t the place or the occasion though to talk about me, or my credentials as a supporter of women’s ordination, which go back a long way. I was there in my role as a chaplain and we quickly moved on to the needs of her friend.

Prior to transition I was a member of Priests for the Ordination of Women, and, of course, the ordination of women in the Church of England enabled me to remain a priest when I transitioned. Most of my working life, though, has been about pastoral care. It’s only in the last six years I’ve become an activist for LGB&T inclusion, and now that I have it’s probably too late to stand for General Synod, even if I wanted to (and I might not be elected anyway).

In any case I’ve felt very ambivalent about the General Synod since 1987, and the personal morality debate initiated by the Revd Tony Higton, which basically set the scene for the marginalisation of LGB&T people in the Church of England.

http://www.churchofengland.org/our-views/marriage,-family-and-sexuality-issues/human-sexuality/homosexuality.aspx

That catastrophe, combined with the painfully slow progress of the legislation on the ordination of women to the priesthood from the late 1970s onwards, means that I’ve never felt wholly confident in the processes and ethos of the General Synod. Perhaps I should have taken time to observe it at close quarters, but each time the Synod is in session I’m either working or elsewhere. Back in July, when the General Synod was meant to have voted on women bishops in York, I was at General Convention in Indianapolis, networking with the TransEpsicopal delegation.

What a contrast between General Convention 2012, where the three transgender inclusive resolutions were passed overwhelmingly by the House of Bishops and the House of Deputies, and the defeat, last week, of the women bishops’ legislation in the House of Laity of the General Synod!

On the other hand, the failure of the laity to meet the required two-thirds majority by just six votes was not a complete surprise. It had been evident for some time that this could happen. The legislation had been drafted, redrafted and amended several times, and it’s claimed that there was an orchestrated campaign in the last election to the House of Laity by those opposed to women bishops. If that’s true, it shows just how political the Synod has become, and how the moderate middle need to be more politically aware in future.

In many ways this was not so much a vote about women bishops but about the creation of a measure that could accommodate those – Conservative Evangelicals and Anglo-Catholics – who, for different reasons, would be unable to accept the ministry of a woman bishop. From the General Synod vote, and the voting by the dioceses (42 out of 44 in favour), it would seem that those opposed to women bishops are a minority; but the Church of England tries hard to hold on to its conservative minorities. I find that slightly uncomfortable when the Church of England seems to treat other minorities as expendable, though the principle is sound and could, and should, be extended.

What has shocked people about the latest decision is that a truth that has been hard won, and is now widely experienced in society in general, the equality of men and women, cannot be embraced by the church because of its tenderness to those with conscientious objections. Such tenderness is the Christian way set out by Paul in relation to dietary regulations in Romans 14-15.1 and 1 Corinthians 8, but not when it challenged the inclusive character of the gospel (Galatians 2.11-21). Parallel jurisdiction, which some of the opponents to women bishops appear to want, would likewise compromise the oversight of a woman bishop, leading to a two-tier episcopate.

This is the so-called ‘circle that cannot be squared’ which is plunging the Church of England into crisis. Since the Church of England is the Established Church of the land, the General Synod’s legal decisions are subject to scrutiny and ratification by Parliament and there is serious concern within Parliament about the Synod’s inability to progress the legislation in favour of women bishops.

There is talk of making the government’s experience in promoting equality available to the Church of England. Some MPs, and even bishops, are keen for the Church’s exemptions to equality legislation to be lifted. If this were to happen there would be a huge outcry from conservatives but it is something that I have longed for. Back in the late 1970s, when I was lamenting the Church of England’s slow progress towards enabling the ordination of women to the diaconate and the priesthood, the priest who was training me said this: ‘It was scandalous that the Church of England was granted exemption from the Sex Discrimination Act (1975).’

How right he was, and how important now for us, as LGB&T people, that ALL the Church’s exemptions should be removed, not just with reference to the Sex Discrimination Act, but to all the equalities legislation the UK Government has enacted in recent years. Only when the Church of England has finally embraced the principle of equality – which, after all, lies at the heart of the gospel – can it with integrity minister to the tender consciences of those who find such strong meat too hard to swallow.

The Rev'd Dr. Christina Beardsley in the Speaker's Corner at General Convention 2012

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'A Canterbury Tale'

8/25/2008

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"A Canterbury Tale" is the title of a 1944 film written, produced and directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, starring Eric Portman, Sheila Sim, Dennis Price and Sergeant John Sweet (U.S. Army) who plays an American soldier. Sweet’s character, who is brash and cheery - a stereotypical English view of Americans at that time - works with the English, a gentle sergeant and an attractive land army girl, to track down the ‘glue man’ (who under stealth of night and the blackout tips glue over the hair of young women), and their collaboration is playfully observed.

At Lambeth 2008 the Inclusive Church Network was a coalition of African, American and English organisations which was not without its tensions as people played up to and defied the stereotypes. One example of the cultural differences between England and America that I observed, as I compared what I was experiencing with the accounts in various blogs, was the way that people’s openness becomes so heavily politicised in the US, while LGBT clergy (and bishops) are rendered almost invisible in the UK. Perhaps it has something to do with the vehemence of the conflict between ‘conservatives’ and ‘liberals’ (sorry, I know that the labels are crude, but they will have to do) in the US compared to here in the UK. I realise that things can get nasty here, but British pragmatism - some would argue duplicity or hypocrisy – often takes the heat out of the controversy, and also, sadly, the passion.

Such differences are both fascinating and troubling; add to them the very different cultures and ethos of the other continents and provinces of the Anglican Communion and it is easy to appreciate why the search for unity is proving so long and hard. At Lambeth, the Inclusive Church network organisations, together in one place for three weeks, had to wrestle with the ‘principalities and powers’ that could easily have undermined their co-operation, but like the characters in A Canterbury Tale they remained united in their task.

In the film the English and the American unite to expose the identity of the ‘glue man’, but when they solve the mystery they are confronted, not with a monster, but a local worthy, Thomas Colpepper J. P., who is keen to hand-on the cultural heritage to the next generation (of men); a good person in many respects, but with a complex relationship to women. Sound familiar? We keep being told that (partnered) gay bishops and same-sex blessings are only ‘the presenting issues’, and that the real controversy is over the interpretation of Scripture; but the fault-lines exposed by the recent vote in favour of women bishops in the Church of England, and the relatively tiny number of women bishops in the Anglican Communion, suggests that ‘the woman issue’, like the scope of biblical criticism, is as troubling today as it was for Victorian Anglicanism.

Sitting in the Cathedral, at the Eucharist on the second Sunday of the Conference, when the Dean preached, I wondered how such a genteel religion, moderated by English compromise and diplomacy, could have spawned the factious Communion we know today; then I recalled how the missionary societies had transported the fierce religious divisions and controversies of the Victorian era to those parts of the globe that were once marked in pink to denote their membership of the British Empire. Again, we will miss the complexity of the current Anglican dynamic if we neglect the history and impact of colonialism.

The real star of A Canterbury Tale, as has often been noted, is Canterbury Cathedral itself – the interior had to be faithfully recreated in the studio, due to wartime restrictions – where the happy outcomes to the hopes and longings of the young characters, their lives dislocated by war, are celebrated. Early on in the film there is a flashback to Chaucer’s pilgrims wending their way to Canterbury ‘the holy blissful martyr [St Thomas á Becket] for to seek’, and although I did not visit the actual shrine, I was conscious of its proximity that morning in the Cathedral, which, as the Dean reiterated, was a place of hospitality, where people have always been made welcome and at home. Presumably he intended this description as an image of how the Communion should see itself, and Lambeth 2008 was a place where it was possible to believe that this might happen, despite high security fences and tight protocols. As Colpepper says in the film, ‘pilgrims to Canterbury often receive blessings.’

The day before this service, lured by the panpipes of the Melanesian Brotherhood, I had made my way over to the lawn where the bishops were gathering for their group photo, and took the opportunity to meet and talk with conservative bishops; just as, in the afternoon, in the marketplace, I visited the stalls of the more conservative organisations, and spoke with their representatives. It’s easy to demonise one another on a blog, or from another side of the globe, but not when we to meet person-to-person, as the bishops discovered in their indaba groups. But the most moving moment of the Conference for me, and the most blesséd, came a few days later, when I returned to the campus to meet someone who had lodged with me for a month in 1980, and is now a bishop in West Africa. We had not set eyes on each other for twenty-eight years, and what happened when we met is another Canterbury tale, but far too personal to be told here.

- The Rev'd Dr. Christina Beardsley
25th August 2008

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"Listening to Trans People" at the Lambeth Conference

7/23/2008

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I'm sitting here in Massachusetts, ready to head out the door to Logan airport, where I'm catching a flight to England to go to the Lambeth Conference.

A couple of weeks ago in Integrity Witness, the Rev'd Susan Russell posed a question to those of us heading to the Conference: Why are you going?

First, for readers not steeped in Anglican politics, the Lambeth Conference is a meeting of bishops from around the Anglican Communion that takes place once every ten years. As this May press conference underlined, the meeting is not a parliamentary proceeding but a chance for bishops from around the Anglican Communion to gather for counsel and relationship-building. And Integrity, of which Susan is the president, is the national LGBT organization within the Episcopal Church.

As is well known, there are Anglicans around the globe who want to curtail the participation of LGBT people in sacramental life. When Gene Robinson became bishop of New Hampshire, a decades-old conflict flared with new intensity. Meanwhile, beginning with the 1978 Lambeth Conference, the Anglican Communion has declared its need to listen to the experience of LGBT people. The most recent manifestation of that desire is an official "listening process." Despite this process, and the existence of things like study guides for bishops and other church leaders, Bishop Robinson himself was deliberately not invited to this Conference. Lest LGBT people simply be talked about or around and not actually heard ourselves, groups like Integrity and Changing Attitude have planned a number of events to make certain that our voices will be present.

And that's why I'm going: to be among those voices as a transgender person. More specifically, a transgender man who is also an Episcopal priest and representative of transgender Episcopalians across the United States (though I am also quite clear that I cannot speak for all of them).

On Friday, July 25th, I along with three others will be on a panel entitled "Listening to Trans People." The panel is part of a series of official Lambeth "Fringe" events (a term that has a less pejorative meaning in England than in the United States), whose schedule you can view here. While bishops are not required to come to this panel, I hope that those who do come will listen with open hearts, carrying with them the spirit of learning and relationality that is the keystone of this Conference. As far as I know, this panel represents the first time that a transgender-specific event has ever taken place at a worldwide Anglican Communion meeting, and I'm proud to be part of it.

The panel was organized by the Rev'd Dr. Christina Beardsley of Changing Attitude UK, who has written a substantial resource for Clergy and Congregations re: transgenderism. The panel is officially sponsored by the UK-based Christian Transgender group called the Sibyls.

Jumping In

As I sit here, about to leave, listening to the rain fall out the window, I'm excited about the new possibilities, the people I will meet and the stories I will hear. And at the same time I can't help but feel overwhelmed as I ponder the challenge of trying to include transgenderism within the context of conversations that have been revolving around sexuality-- human sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular. In a way, I feel like someone standing next to one of those huge jump ropes-- the kind where two people stand turning the rope and you have to jump in. It's a lot easier when you get to turn your own rope-- there's no mistaking the rhythm-- you can slow down, speed up, or stop when you need to. With a rope not of your own turning, you have to time your jump. You stand there for a moment, kind of swaying as you figure out the pace, and then jump in, hoping you don't snag the ropes.

Perhaps this anticipatory experience is common to anyone poised on the threshold of this conversation, regardless of demographic particulars. But as I prepare to bring a trans perspective, it sometimes feels like I and my other trans comrades are bringing another rope. A single jump rope, turning and turning around the topic of sexuality does not give us tools to talk about transgenderism; we need another rope for gender. Double Dutch, anyone?

But wait, we already have a gender rope. It entered the Anglican fray most famously in the mid-1970s debates about women priests, and in the late '80s with the consecration of the Rt. Rev. Barbara C. Harris in my home diocese of Massachusetts. In 2006 the gender jump rope got renewed attention with the election of the Rt. Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori as the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, and within the last month the Church of England has voted that women can become bishops in England. Over the years, this gender rope has continued to turn in our debate, but in the last two decades, as sexuality has become an increasingly dominant theme, the role of gender in our discussions has become obscured. In the wake of the Church of England's recent vote, I have hope that the gender rope will regain its crucial place in the collective Anglican conversation with more clarity and emphasis than it has recently received.

Only, as gender comes back into our collective conversation, I believe we need to think about it differently. Gender should not simply refer to women. Nor, for that matter, should gender simply equal transgender. Our "gender rubric" should be more complex, more flexible. As Bishop Gene Robinson and numerous others have argued, gender needs to be understood in the complicated ways that it interacts with race, class, ability, and sexuality, particularly in the wake of Anglican colonial legacies. What's more, our rubric should understand that gender is neither rigidly binary (male and female only) nor static (always experienced, expressed and embodied in the same way). Gender has so many forms in so many different cultural contexts that categories don't always overlap. What it means to be gendered-- to be labeled, for instance, as a man, as a woman, as another category of gender, of which there are a number around the world-- is highly contextual. Even within the same geographical region, the rules for how genders are to be enacted -- how to "be a man," for instance-- may change depending on one's other demographic features. As is true with sexuality-- indeed, as is true of God-- no language can finally express or contain the idiosyncratic gender vernacular of a fellow human being.

And so a new facet of our journey as Anglicans, it seems to me, is to truly recognize that our conversation is not simply a matter of gay or straight, black or white, male or female. There isn't just one jump rope, nor should there simply be two. I'm not convinced we could ever add enough ropes to account for the myriad dimensions of humanity, and I also worry about the challenge of who turns the ropes and who jumps. Much as I like the image, jumping rope might not be the best way to attend to our distinct but interlocking differences and our common goal of empowering the full dignity of our humanity.

The image that pops into my head -- an imperfect, nascent analogy, to be sure -- is of a game I remember playing in P.E. that involved a parachute. All the kids would stand in a circle -- many of them -- and would hold onto the outside of the chute. What we did with the parachute varied. Sometimes we'd wave the parachute rapidly and watch the fabric ripple toward us. Sometimes an object of some sort would be placed in the middle-- we would all lift up the chute and watch the object bounce. I even remember the object sometimes being a person who got quite a ride (perhaps that's what's happening to Bishop Gene?!). But my favorite part was when we'd all, suddenly, lift our hands upward, holding tight to the chute edge, watching the fabric puff up into a huge balloon. Then, quickly, we'd all duck inside and sit on the edge, the chute fabric behind our backs. Suddenly the fringe had created a new center. All had access to it, and it belonged to no one in particular; in fact, if anyone left the edge for the center, the air current might change and the balloon might quickly deflate. And so we'd sit there, laughing with delight as we spied one another inside this new, collectively created dome, seeing people suddenly a bit more clearly, reveling in this strangely sacred space. Slowly and steadily, the dome would deflate. Eventually, when our views were obscured, the parachute exercise would end and P.E. would be over. But not before, together, we'd done something somehow quite magical.

As I prepare to embark on this journey, my prayer is that the fringes of the Lambeth Conference might witness to the Anglican Communion a renewed, clarified vision of human complexity. I pray that the God who is always doing a new thing might re-empower us in the ongoing task of creating church anew, that somehow, amidst ongoing conflict, we might be able to delight in the unique incarnation that each of us was created to become.

- The Rev'd Dr. Cameron Partridge

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Pastoral Fallout: a Trans Perspective on Women Bishops

'A Canterbury Tale'

"Listening to Trans People" at the Lambeth Conference

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