When is a bishop not a bishop?

Twenty years after they began ordaining women, Anglicans still haven't taken the final step towards

Twenty years after they began ordaining women, Anglicans still haven't taken the final step towards gender equality.{C}

As you may have heard, the General Synod of the Church of England is debating the vexed issue of women bishops. Or rather, how to make women bishops without splitting the church and causing those Anglicans who don't believe that women can or should become bishops, ever, to leave, either to the Roman Catholic Church or to set up their own breakaway congregations.

The big decision won't be taken until July: this week, the Synod has been debating proposals aimed to protect male clergy who oppose women's ordination from finding themselves under the authority of a female bishop. Rowan Williams, introducing this quintessentially half-baked compromise, spoke today of seeking to respect the "theological integrity" and ensure the "pastoral continuity" of opponents. But his proposal hasn't gone down well with many in the church, who argue that it would make women bishops inferior to their male counterparts; and in any case it doesn't go far enough to satisfy diehard opponents.

Both sides in the debate have displayed the usual Anglican blend of high principle and low politics. It's hard to see how they could be reconciled.

To some, undoubtedly the majority, the continued discrimination against women in the church is a source of scandal and embarrassment. The very phrase "alternative episcopal oversight", used for the procedure that would allow opponents to avoid having to be under the authority of a female bishop, is a tautology. In Greek, "episkopos" means "overseer". A bishop who didn't have full authority in her own diocese would only be half a bishop.

To others, who of course deny that they are in any sense misogynist (even if God is) accepting the episcopal authority of women is against all tradition and Biblical authority. The church, they would argue, doesn't live by the same rules as the secular world, but by the law of God. To argue against women bishops is not to decry gender equality per se, but rather to safeguard the eternal truths that can't be bent to the whim of prevailing fashion.

But there's another tradition in Anglicanism, equally or perhaps more historically grounded, which is that the Church of England represents the nation at prayer. Or at least aspires to do so. The traditionalists' argument presents the church as a largely static body, immune from wider currents in society. But that has never been the case in any Christian church - and especially not in the Church of England. Rather, it has cut its ecclesiastical cloth according to the temper and spirit of the country. The Reformation represented a break with traditional Christianity considerably more radical and far-reaching than the prospect of women bishops. The church once had no problem with slavery and assumed that a hierarchy of races was part of God's plan. True, there never used to be female priests or bishops: but then for centuries there were no female MPs, high court judges or even doctors, so the question didn't really arise.

Many Anglicans fear that any further delay in appointing women as bishops, or even introducing "safeguards" for opponents that would effectively turn women into second-class bishops, would further marginalise the C of E's position in wider society. As Savi Hensman wrote a few days ago, "the widespread perception that Christianity treats women as inferior" is one of the factors that has led to the decline in religious belief and practice in modern Britain. English churches had lost over a million women worshippers since 1989, yet dioceses with a higher proportion of women clergy, the Church of England tended to enjoy more growth or slower decline than the national average.

Look at this another way. If you're not a regular churchgoer, you might not think it matters either way how the Church of England conducts its affairs. Today's vote will attract much less interest than the acquittal of Harry Redknapp on tax evasion charges. Indeed, to most people in the country the only Synod measure likely to affect them directly was the decision yesterday to hike up the fees charged for weddings and funerals.

But the Church of England is not a private club. So long as it remains the established church, so long as everyone in the country is, by default, a member of it (at least in the sense of having the right to take advantage of Anglican marriage and funeral rites), so long as bishops can sit in the House of Lords and vote against the policies of an elected government, so long as it controls a third of the country's schools, how it arranges its affairs ought to concern everyone.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times