I feel sure that the Mitregate story will blow over sometime in the next 24 hours. It’s just a small incident, of course – it’s just a hat, it’s just one misunderstanding, it’s not what we are really all about, and it really deserves a good lampooning of the kind Spitting Image used to do so well. For the true picture, you could do no better than to hear or read the marvellous sermon KJS preached at Southwark last weekend. What I regret about this story, though, is that it’s one of a long series of events that make the Church appear out of touch and absorbed in petty details that don’t matter that much.

Many have asked, “What was Lambeth thinking?”.  I may be wrong, but my guess is that it was the timing of her visit – so close to our imminent Synod debate on women bishops in England – that made those in Lambeth anxious not to be seen to be forcing the issue. Perhaps this isn’t surprising given that the history of England* has always inclined towards change by degree. We didn’t make the long journey from feudalism to democracy without a war or two, but once France had her revolution we followed with two centuries of political reform, one tiny step at a time. Whether the anxiety for less bloodshed left us with more frustration is hard to say, but it seems that culturally we carved a path we still follow: change comes slowly, with every miniscule step analysed and considered. The seventeenth century proverb (later adapted by Longfellow) could have been written for the Church of England: “God’s mill grinds slow, but sure.”

(*I say “England” deliberately here: the political and ecclesiastical histories Wales, Scotland and NI are intertwined but they are far from identical.)

I’ve enjoyed conversation and commentary this week from friends on both sides of the pond. In this country, Church politics sometimes feels like trying to turn round an ocean liner with the wattage of a hairdryer, for which reason some perspective (and some humour) from a distance is rather good to have. My friend Lucas Mix (who is a scientist and a priest) commented on Mitregate yesterday:

“…An important point of doctrine is at stake – one that really should not be reduced to head gear. The question revolves around national autonomy for churches. It is neither simple nor unemotional. On the one hand, one can make a strong case that the church should be international. In this way, bishops (and priests and everyone else) are free from catering to national interests. They can speak out against bad state policies and bad civil culture no matter where they are. A man by the name of John Henry Newman argued this quite convincingly in the late 19th century. On the other hand, one can say that every national church should have autonomy. This prevents foreign politics from interfering in local affairs. Americans were terribly concerned that John F. Kennedy would be overly influenced by the Pope when he was elected president. It turns out he wasn’t, but there have been many cases of Papal interference historically, from Cardinals ruling countries to Papal support of revolutions. The church, it seems, risks being compromised either by national politics or by international.

For my own part, I have often wavered on this matter. I see benefits to both sides; it is, however, particularly tricky for Anglicans. You see, our church(es) were founded on the idea of national autonomy. Henry VIII was brilliant and devout, but hardly anyone thinks that his desire for an annulment/divorce was a good reason to break away from Rome. The Anglican tradition cannot rest on a claim to a greater understanding of scripture, a deeper theology, or even a unique revelation… The justification was that international secular affairs should not be messing with local religious affairs. The Pope should not be refusing (or granting) dispensations because of international alliances or because he has an army at his doorstep. He should be above that. And, because no one in practice is, we limit the temptation by limiting the size of the church and the power held in the hands of any one person. Anglicanism is based on national autonomy.

And herein lies the rub for Rowan Williams. He can either choose for national autonomy or for an international church, and I would respect either choice. If he chooses national autonomy he has no right to tell the Episcopal Church (USA) or any other Anglican province how, who, or in what manner they can choose bishops. As a man appointed by Parliament, he looks mighty silly claiming authority over an elected American Primate. Archbishop Williams may or may not choose to allow Presiding Bishop Jefferts-Schori to preach in his jurisdiction, but he cannot stand in judgment of her consecration.

If, alternatively, he chooses an international church, he has no right to call himself an Archbishop. John Henry Newman became famous for leaving the Church of England for Rome. The belief in an international church leads one, in the end, to recognize the largest and oldest church (in the West) as the central authority. Rowan Williams only has authority as the Archbishop of Canterbury because he thinks the British Parliament gives him that right. Thus Mr. Williams is free to believe in the international church, but it makes of him a Roman Catholic layman, and not an Archbishop.

Mr. Williams seems to have forgotten that his power as head of the Anglican communion rests squarely on national autonomy. Apparently he has also forgotten that he has a freedom of conscience, for his decisions as head of the communion are utterly at odds with what he published as a theologian (when he was actively and famously pro-gay). I hope he comes to his senses soon. I hope he realizes what it means to be an Anglican. The alternative, for him and for many others, can only be a hierarchical international church that lacks the wealth, history, prestige, complexity, and numbers of the Roman Catholic Church. Our true heritage and our Divine gift has always been national autonomy, theological diversity, and the ability to disagree with one another. Otherwise, we’re just disobedient Romans.

Now I’m about to embark on a journey. It’s a grey day here in Cambridge, though the sun is threatening to break through. I get weary at this time of year, but a change is as good as a rest, as they say.