At the beginning of this series about the the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, I asked them both about their understanding of blogging and the virtual world. Neither of them is actually a blogger in person (although a number of Bishops do blog, some regularly, some intermittently; this one is a weekly audio blog). But the Archbishops of Canterbury and York co-ordinated the launch of their new websites at the beginning of the year, with the aim of projecting their beliefs and activities in a somewhat more personal format to a wider audience. They include their biographies, but also their personal interests and passions – poetry and Russian literature for one, and York City FC for the other. I’ll leave you to figure out which is which.

Their websites are bright and modern in design, and while they aren’t exactly matching sites, they have a similar style and structure, suited to their own personalities and styles. The Archbishop of Canterbury’s site uses shades of blue and grey, creating a sense of his contemplative style; the Archbishop of York is more extrovert with vibrant, fiery reds. Each site includes videos, RSS feeds, a ‘contact us’ form and photo gallery.  The only glaring omission is a blog! Although I guess it would be impossible for their small staff-base to negotiate a comments section…

Informal, made-up-on-the-spot prayers are part of their habit of life too. There was a moment when Archbishop Sentamu was about to address a large audience, but had a really sore throat. Archbishop Rowan came to find us, and immediately knelt down beside Archbishop Sentamu to pray. Not in five-syllable words or liturgical language, mind you. He just prays to Jesus, like you and me.

On the last day of the Consultations, I was travelling with Archbishop Sentamu, and after we’d taken the time for some personal catching up I said, “One more blog-question! My readers want to know what you do to relax.” It hardly seemed a fair question, given the itinerary we had just put him through, and I swear I saw a little glint of irony in his eye (he’s a smart man, he doesn’t miss much!).

“I go to the gym every day,” he replied. “Every day?” I said. “When I’m in York, every day,” he replied. “It’s important. You have to look after yourself.”

There was a brief pause while he looked at me intently. He has this way of looking at you that makes you feel at once scrutinised with great honesty, and yet deeply met with God’s love.

“But what about you?” he asked. “What do you do to relax? I hope you are looking after yourself?”

Most people, I think, took part in the Cambridge Consultations thinking that they would be listening while the Archbishops talked; and certainly this series of blog posts began as an opportunity to put questions to the Archbishops. But everything about these consultations was a dialogue. They spent at least as much time asking and listening as they did talking. And even when I had this last chance to ask him a question, Archbishop Sentamu lobbed it right back to me.

If there’s one thing I’ve taken away from this first event in the Consultations it’s this: we no longer live in a world where the experts talk and the little people listen. Seeing change happen in the institutional church sometimes feels like trying to turn round an ocean liner with all the power of a hairdryer. But the Archbishops are people with a vision for the future that is far from old style politics. More than anything, they are guys who listen more than they talk, and far from being lost in religious mumbo-jumbo, they take a down-to-earth, realistic view of the Church. They see a future that embraces both ancient liturgies in magnificent buildings and pizza-party churches in living rooms. They envisage a Church that is not navel gazing, but focussed outwards to the needs of society. And they take a genuine, committed and personal interest in me, and you, and ten-year-old boys who are upset, and anyone else who comes across their path. Their interest is not held pricnipally with bureaucratic matters, but with the life and faith of individuals and families and communities.

So after giving you the chance to question them, I leave you with Archbishop Sentamu’s personal and searching question. “What about you? Are you looking after yourself?”.

The final post in this series "Blogging the Archbishops" will appear tomorrow.  The next Cambridge Consultations will take place in Cambridge on the 7^th-9^th May, and the theme will be Human Rights in a Dangerous World. 

On Friday I travelled with the Archbishop of York’s team. One of the things he has a real gift for is planting fresh hope and vision in people’s hearts. It’s hard to put your finger on quite how he does it, but you always feel more energetic and purposeful after spending some time with him. He never pretends to understand the detail of a situation, but he seems to have the capacity to climb into other peoples shoes and get the feel for what encouragement they need to help them flourish.

The day began with him addressing a meeting of Chaplains in Higher Education. Chaplains of various faiths had travelled from all over the region to take part in this half-day meeting. The Archbishop set the scene by calling all of us not to cave in to the pressure to become social workers or health and welfare providers by any other name. “Do not forget your calling,” he said. “None of you started out to be social workers. If that’s what you wanted you could have become a social worker! But the world of education needs Chaplains too. So don’t be ashamed of your calling.”

I was driving back from the Chaplaincy event with Archbishop Sentamu and his team.  The evening before he had asked for news of my son. Now he asked about him again. “I am a little concerned about your boy,” he said, “I would like to see him before I leave Cambridge. Can we go to his school and make a visit?” So we made a detour, and stopped at the school. The Head teacher was slightly startled as this small but determined man announced himself as the Archibishop of York, and requested that my son be brought from his class for a personal audience. A few minutes later, the Archbishop was chatting with my son, asking him a little about life and school, and dropping some wonderful confidence-building words into the conversation. They exchanged their favourite jokes, and the Archbishop asked him whether he remembered his baptism. Then they sat down to say some prayers together. In the space of ten minutes my son seemed to have grown two inches taller. He’s been telling the Archbishop’s joke ever since.

Not two weeks earlier this man had been discussing world-scale politics with names that are never out of the headlines. In the last twenty-four hours he and the Archbishop of Canterbury had visited an immigration centre, a homelessness project, and several world-changing research projects at two Universities.  But a ten-year-old boy in need of some personal encouragement is just as important to the Archbishop. It’s one thing to say that in the eyes of God, a ten-year-old boy is just as important as a President. It’s another to actually make a detour to visit him. This wasn’t a symbolic act for dramatic effect; there was no-one watching, and if I hadn’t told you here, no-one would ever have known. It speaks of the unpretentiousness of the Archbishop, but it speaks volumes more about the God we worship. 

to be continued…

When Archbishop Sentamu arrived at the University Church on Thursday evening, he was wearing his usual bright smile, but pointed at his throat.  “Nothing left!” he whispered.  His throat was so sore and hoarse we wondered whether he would be able to deliver his lecture. It’s hard to persuade this fiery little man to sit down for long. There are always queues of people who want to meet him, and he hates to refuse any of them. He recognises many people he has met before, often remembering them by name. But we found him a warm corner to sit down and rest for a bit. 

“So tell me, Maggi,” he said, “How is your son?” (Archbishop Sentamu baptised my son nearly ten years back and always wants a progress report.) I gave him a little summary of what has been happening to us lately, and mentioned a couple of things that have been a fairly major setback for my son.  The Archbishop’s face was studied, and he said nothing for a bit.  Something was percolating.

But then the wheels began to turn again, and we were called to go to the platform. It was my task to introduce Archbishop Sentamu before he gave his public lecture entitled “A Broken Society?” and to moderate the question and answer session afterwards.

I kept my introduction warm, brief and to the point. People don’t want to listen to the MC, they want to hear the lecturer.  Archbishop Sentamu took the stage, and despite feeling unwell he warmed to his subject and his voice seemed to get stronger as he spoke with great passion about his vision for society.

He spoke of how people often speak negatively about society. The media tends to exaggerate the bad news and underreport the good. There’s something of a national epidemic of negativity, which brews fear and hostility. He urged us to start from a different vantage point offered to us by the gospel – to view our society as redeemed, and with every reason for hope, not as broken and sliding down a slippery slope.

The Archbishop took some tricky questions fearlessly and with humour, after which we headed over for Compline (a service of prayers and music for the end of the day) where the other Archbishop spoke with artful simplicity about the Lenten journey. I don’t know whether they planned it this way, or whether it was serendipitous, but the Archbishop of York called us in a public lecture to have a vision of hope and redemption that looked outward to the world, and at prayers the Archbishop of Canterbury turned the focus inward to find the same journey of hope and redemption within our own hearts.

I’ll continue the story in the next post…

Before the Archbishops arrived in Cambridge, one of my blogreaders wanted to know whether Archbishop Sentamu had gone back to wearing his clerical collar, or was still keeping up his protest about Zimbabwe. I was planning to ask him, but he turned up collarless so I guess the question was answered.

One of the things that became clear through the three days, though, was that the Archbishops “spoke” just as much by their presence and engagement with people as through the words they said. There’s been a lot of press coverage lately which seems to have ridden on the back of a dehumanised view of Bishops and Archbishops.  I sometimes wonder whether the press has an unwritten rule that they will avoid the actual, biting issues that really are being addressed within theological discourse, simply by portraying every member of the clergy either as an out-of-touch intellectual, or an out-of-date buffoon, or as a hypocritical drunk. It’s so much easier to ridicule a Bishop for being reportedly drunk, or for using five-syllable words instead of soundbites, or daring to engage with the idea of Sharia, than it is to admit that theological and religious issues have a vital part to play in the social and political discourse of a society that deems itself “secular” and above all that.

As the Cambridge Consultations got under way it seemed to me that the various events were gathering crowds with very mixed expectations. Some arrived ready to slam the “ivory tower” or out of touch religiosity they thought they would discover. Others were hoping to find that the Archbishops had smart answers for their critics.

What actually emerged was engaged dialogue; two very bright men who didn’t claim to have all the answers but who spoke with confidence about a gospel that has something to offer – some role in shaping a world that we can believe in. And although this partly emerged through what they had to say, it was also through their being willing to let themselves be real and visible to people, not merely giving a public and guarded appearance. They laughed and talked, and late in the day a couple of times they looked really dead-on-their-feet tired. They answered questions honestly and freely, they listened carefully, they treated their critics with respect and thoughtful engagement. They showed themselves to be real, human, in touch and engaged with life, not lost in a 19^th century religious museum.

I’ll continue the story in the next post…

One of the things that several blog-readers wanted to ask the Archbishops about was the relationship between Church and State. For people within the Church, I think there is a feeling that we need the freedom to get on with being Church, without being beholden to the State. For those outside, they wonder why we still get to meddle in what seems an anachronistic way with the affairs of a largely secular state. 

A few days before I met the Archbishops The Economist ran an article that called for a cutting of the cord between Church and State. So I asked the Archbishops whether they think the time is approaching, for the good of the Church and the State, for the Church of England to begin divesting itselef of its historic position as a national church.

Archbishop Sentamu smiled.  “The church I grew up in – the Church of Uganda – is not established! So this idea of an established Church was something new for me when I came here. In England, though, this is a serious constitutional question, more complex than people usually realise. It’s easy to say it’s just an anachronism that gives privileges that don’t fit in the modern world. But in fact disestablishment would not principally address those issues – they are side issues. Disestablishment would call for a complete rearrangement of the English constitution. You can’t disestablish without rethinking the political and social structure of the nation at the same time.”

“I agree,” added Archbishop Rowan, “that we need a deeper understanding of what this proposition IS – it would be a dissolving of a huge range of relationships between the church and the body politic. I’m completely confident the church would survive that, but if that is part of a process of privatising the legitimacy of religion I’d be wary of seeking after it.”

“So you think there would be more to lose than gain, then?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know about that!” said Archbishop Rowan. “You see I too grew up in a disestablished church – the Church in Wales! But here in England I think that if disestablishment came as part of programme that privatised religion then state and society would lose something that is underestimated in its value for both.”

this conversation is continued in part 4…

“I’m not good at predictions!” Archbishop Rowan smiled, and paused for a moment. “What I can tell you, though, is where I’d like us to be. I’d like there still to be the sense that the Church of England is there for everybody, with a sense of responsibility for a whole community, not just little bits of it.  And I’d like there to be much, much more a network of small groups who are prepared to share and discuss and pray; move a little bit away from the standard size Sunday service.

“What about ancient Church buildings then”, I asked “If you want small groups in living rooms, are the historic buildings part of your vision for the future?” “Well," Archbishop Rowan continued, "they can be a part of being there for everybody, so don’t knock it! – they can be a curse or a blessing.”

“My hope for the Church in twenty years’ time,” said Archbishop Sentamu, “is that that there will be more of a sense that the Church of England is something that people will positively celebrate, rather than just being their default position. You know at the moment, how people turn to the Church in a crisis, or when they get married, but ignore it the rest of the time. I’m looking for many more disciples who are serving God with their whole life, and who will rejoice that they are part of the Church. And as for buildings, well, there are a lot of Grade 1 listed buildings in the Dioceses of York.  And they are a witness.”

“Are they?” I asked, “Are they really a witness to the Church or do they give more the impression that the Church is a museum piece?”

“Oh no!” they both said, practically in stereo, “Buildings speak to people…” 

“They speak in positive ways,” continued Archbishop Rowan. “They make people ask, what’s this here for? Why is it here? What has happened here over time?”

“But look at the blog-world,” I said. “It reveals a fairly large number of people who self-identify as Christian but who do not regularly attend a place of worship in the formal sense. Spirituality and faith are clearly alive and well, but there are plenty of people who believe the Church in a fatal decline. Is there really a future for organised religion?”

“Human beings, by nature, always need a home,” said Archbishop Sentamu. “Whatever else happens to organised religion, if it’s providing a place of safety and identity, then future is very bright. If not, the future is bleak. The Church should be a home where the stranger finds love, and the lonely a welcome. When it loses those things, then it’s just an institution, and it’s bureaucratically passive. But organised religion is ambiguous. It can be a source of great good, or of evil.”

Archbishop Rowan continued, “If there is a future for organised religion, it’s because it offers a communal religion. The gospel mostly isn’t about individuals, but about living in co-operation. If you have a communal understanding of religion, sooner or later you begin to ask about how to hand on the experience. It’s never just a private spirituality. What the organisation itself looks like has already changed many times, and it will change again, maybe dramatically. But its purpose is this communal function, distilling and handing on.”

Go here for the third instalment of these interviews.

It was some months since I’d seen the Archbishop of York, Dr John Sentamu. Once upon a time he was my local priest, and I got to know him well working with him on a number of church projects and missions of one kind and another over the last couple of decades.  He’s always had a great habit of lobbing a musical challenge my way – “Here,” he used to say, “I want to talk tonight about God’s justice. Can you write me a new song?” I usually did – he’s the kind of person that gets results from people, not necessarily through pressure, but by inspiring people to do what they do well.

The Archbishop of Canterbury I cannot claim as a personal friend, but I have met him on quite a few occasions, and have always been amazed by his capacity to remember so many people. He must meet hundreds of people every week, yet he manages to remember many people by name and circumstance. He’s a gracious and humorous man, always with something interesting to say. So I was looking forward to these blog interviews – I’d been promised 20 minutes with each of them, and set off with my laptop and two lists of questions.

I arrived at the agreed time to fire your blog-questions at the Archbishops, but some of the organisation of the day had come slightly unstuck and the interview time was about to be squeezed out. The Archbishops overheard my protests, though, and they and their teams created a small space for me. So I sat with them over lunch, laptop at the ready, with an Archbishop on either side of me. I began by asking them how much they knew about the blog-world, and what kind of effect – positive or negative – they thought blogging, facebook and similar media are having on Church life and spiritual concerns. 

“They are clearly part of the whole knowledge economy”, said Archbishop Rowan. “They have encouraged people not to take in passively what’s produced – it has opened up a more interactive environment for the sharing of knowledge – a democratisation of knowledge. And clearly that is bound to affect the Church at every level.”

Is the democratisation of knowledge always a good thing, though, I asked him? Does it flatten a desirable level of expertise?

“It can certainly flatten expertise,” he replied. “But perhaps the more worrying issue is that in can in some ways encourage unreflective expression – it’s possible simply to think it, and say it, without any thought.  When that happens in personal conversation, there is a humanising effect. But on the screen, it’s less human.”

Then the Archbishop of York chipped in: “On the other hand, people have found real friendships through blogs, who would never have otherwise met each other – it’s a worldwide connection, people really do “meet” you on your blog.  When I cut up my collar the response online was enormous – that’s when I realised just how many boundaries can be crossed with blogs.”

He thought for a minute, and then added, “But you know, when people write without thinking, it can get very difficult; it can be offensive and troublesome.  The best of what’s there on the blogs is from those who take a little time to reflect before they publish. But there is no choice about whether we engage with this new media. It’s the world we are in – the Church has to engage with it!”

More in the next post about the Archbishops’ visit and my conversations with them.

I’ll be posting their replies over the next few days.

But what he actually had to say is that the gospel of Jesus Christ is full of the hope of redemption; that  the way that we commonly talk (in the UK) about our society is excessively negative; as if everything is broken beyond repair. It’s one thing to acknowledge our need of redemption. But in many ways – and the press in particular – we have a tendency towards a negative mindset, and we need to take on a view of our society not as irrectrievabl;y broken, but as living in the hope of redemption.

It was my job to introduce the Archbishop and take care of the question and answer sessions. Archbishop Sentamu was struggling with a seriously sore throat, but he managed despite that to convey his message of hope and redemption.

My personal reflection is that it was fantastic to see hundreds of people at a time encounter both the Archbishops as thoroughly human. So often we see them represented (or misrepresented) in the press – a photograph and a clinical account that gives nothing of the humanity, the tone of voice, the smile, the light touch with some laughter, or the deep and compassionate concern that will cross their face as they listen to human pain and suffering. I think our Cambridge meetings engaged people with the fact that the Archbishops are people just like us: people who are thoroughly human, and determined that the good news of Jesus Christ will not be smothered by images of bland clergy, naughty vicars, buffoon priests.