It’s an old story. The Church opened the Lambeth conference, which ends today, to discuss the Good News. concluded the gay sex controversy, giving the impression, once again, that it is self-absorbed and divided. Justin Welby, who after nine years on the job now looks older than Methuselah, stated a compromise: doctrinally, homosexual acts remain a sin, but churches that depart from this teaching will not face sanctions. “I know we’ve never met,” Ms. Toksvig wrote to the Archbishop in a public letter (doesn’t anyone write privately anymore?) but if they were friends, she’d tell him he’d betrayed “LGBTQ+ people” (I’d love it, by the way, to meet one of these + people and ask if they’d ever consider going out with a -? You know: opposites attract). Condemning his “exclusionary statement,” he ripped into “false,” outdated, and fanatical interpretations of the Bible that distort the true teachings of Jesus Christ, namely that all that matters is being a “good person.” And then comes the kicker: “I’m a humanitarian.” I’ve received many such communications over the years explaining why I’m wrong about one aspect of theology or another, and in my experience they inevitably include an admission that the author doesn’t believe in God himself, which makes me question why I care that I do, or why does it matter to them that a church goes along with the views of an atheist? This is like someone writing to Crufts to say: “Dear Sir, When I attended your dog show I was disappointed to see that it did not include cats and as I can’t stand dogs and much prefer cats, I suggest you make amends – or Not I’ll be back!” Now, Sandy has a point about preaching that perpetuates hate: she tells Welby that she’s received death threats from religious homophobes, which is disgusting. But it’s fascinating how non-believers in an almost entirely secular culture still feel possessive of the church—and instead of abandoning it, they insist that it should become like the rest of society. Specifically, Western society. I’m sure Welby would like to rewrite the rules about sex, but he feels a responsibility to hold together a global society that includes moral traditionalists in poor countries. Here in Britain, if you were to imagine an Anglican, you might think of someone like Sandy – rich, white, liberal. But worldwide, the average Anglican is an African woman in her thirties living on less than $4 a day. This society is truly diverse, and given how often we hear that “diversity is strength,” one would expect fans of multiculturalism to recognize Welby’s effort to keep it together. But then I also noticed that the people who say the loudest that they want diversity usually don’t, because if they did, they would respect the right of religious communities to believe things that are unfashionable. Instead they force them to change. True diversity is a street in Birmingham, that actually exists, where a church called St. Philip Neri’s Oratory sits across the street from a strip mall (and, no, that’s not why the church was built there). I’m not insisting that the strip show a cross. I certainly don’t want the oratory brothers pole-dancing for advice. Because these are two separate worlds that thrive because their difference is respected, and you and I have the freedom to attend one or the other (and I’m sure some Brummies go to both). Many liberals, however, see diversity not as an end in itself, but as a method, a means of forcing churches to reject old ideas and embrace modernity so that the rainbow flag may one day fly from every spire or minaret in Britain. A different world where everyone thinks exactly the same. My dog has rescue complex I get a lot of abuse on the street, which isn’t unusual if you’re me, but in the last few days it’s gotten a lot worse. It culminated when a man shouted at me in an impenetrable Scottish accent outside Victoria tube station. I couldn’t understand why until I was standing in a fishmonger’s shop and an Irishman came up to me and whispered, “You’d be in a lot of trouble in parts of Belfast if you wore that shirt.” The penny dropped. I run a laundry cycle and this was the week I wore my Celtic football shirt. Luckily I have my dog to protect me: now officially a Catholic dog after being blessed by a priest. A few nights ago, I took him out for a late night walk and discovered a strange man living outside my house in the bushes. Bert, who I have never seen curl his lips so much in a human, barked so fiercely that I had to apologize to this would-be burglar for disturbing his work. I was proud. Unfortunately, since then this little spaniel has decided he’s Charles Bronson in Death Wish, and he’s been patrolling the neighborhood looking for mischief – barking at cats, foxes and, on one occasion, a completely innocent bag of cement. He has become territorial. A card cannot rustle by the window without him fooling it. As I keep telling him, I have a state-of-the-art alarm. I don’t need his help. If readers know of any discouragement methods, please write!
