The decision to allow same-sex marriages in church will be a headache for Justin Welby

It may end up dominating the new Archbishop of Canterbury's tenure in the way that the women bishops debate has dominated Rowan Williams'.

As if he didn't have enough on his in-tray trying to sort out the mess over women bishops, the government's decision to permit same-sex marriage in church will create more problems for the incoming Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby.

When his appointment was announced, Welby was widely described as being a "staunch" opponent of same-sex marriage. But he has never used the language of, say, the Archbishop of York John Sentamu, who once claimed that to allow gay couples to get married would be to "torture the English language."  Instead, during his first press conference Welby promised to "listen very attentively to the LGBT communities and examine my own thinking prayerfully." But however his own thinking evolves, the change will inevitably call into question both the unity of the Church of England and its relationship with wider society. 

As the women's bishops debate also showed, the church can't afford to get too out of step with the nation from which it takes its name.  When it does, it raises awkward questions about its constitutional status and privileges, even about what it is for. 

The Church's official position, as set out in its response to the government's consultation earlier this year, is to oppose any move towards equalisation marriage between gay and straight couples.  Even the government's initial proposals, which would have prohibited any same-sex ceremonies in religious premises, went too far for the Anglican leadership. The document claimed that the change would "alter the intrinsic nature of marriage as the union of a man and a woman, as enshrined in human institutions throughout history." 

It also made legal arguments, casting doubt on the government's distinction between religious and civil marriage and stressing the historic obligation of the Anglican priests to marry couples resident in their parish, whether they were members of the church or not.  However, the Church of England has long had an exemption when it comes to marrying divorcees, and recently acquired one in respect of transsexuals, so there's no obvious reason why it shouldn't also have an exemption from being required to perform same-sex marriages.

The real problem for the established church - and for the new archbishop - will be internal rather than external.  Instead of vicars being forced by the state to perform gay marriages against their conscience, a more likely scenario will see clergy banned by the church from following their conscience by performing them. The official statement was not universally welcomed by Anglicans.  Many, in fact, denounced it.  The liberal grouping Inclusive Church put in its own submission, describing the ability of churches to offer same-sex ceremonies "a fundamental principle of religious liberty."  It was "of the utmost importance that objections to the principle of same-sex marriages by some religious groups should not be used as an excuse to obstruct other groups from acting in accordance with their own religious views."  Giles Fraser, perhaps the Church's highest-profile liberal, declared that he was "spitting blood" after reading the "ridiculous" official response, which he thought had "all the democratic authority of a  Putin election victory."

Such views probably still represent a minority view among practising Anglicans, in contrast to the push for women bishops - which, despite the disappointing outcome of the recent Synod vote, has clear majority support inside the church.  And as that vote showed, it's quite easy for opponents of change to put together a blocking minority in the Synod.  So it's hard to see a proposal to permit same-sex marriage winning the necessary two-thirds majority in all three houses.  It's very likely that religious organisations will be allowed to offer same-sex weddings on the same terms that they can already offer civil partnerships: that is, only if the group as a whole decides to accept it.  Individual priests will not be able to make the decision unilaterally. 

The Church of England officially supports civil partnerships but, unlike some other religious groups including the Quakers and the United Reformed Church, has made no move to permit the ceremonies in its churches.  Once same sex marriage becomes widely accepted, as it surely will once the doom-laden predictions of its opponents prove unfounded, this is likely to change.  There will be increasingly vocal calls from liberal clergy to marry same sex couples.  In Denmark, the national Lutheran Church already performs same sex weddings, with exemptions for individual ministers who have an objection. Such a solution could also work in the Church of England.  But not before another almighty row between the C of E's liberals and conservatives. It may end up dominating Justin Welby's tenure as archbishop in the way that the women bishops debate has dominated Rowan Williams'.  

Justin Welby. Photo: Getty
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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

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 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times