Collapse in the cathedral

Headlines around the world last week told of the resignation of the Most Rev. Justin Welby, the titular leader of Anglican Christians around the world, as archbishop of Canterbury. Just days after insisting he would not resign, Welby’s office announced that he would step down in the wake of an investigation into the sexual and physical abuse of boys and young men at Christian camps. The specific charge against Welby is that he did not inform authorities when advised of the abuse.

The man at the center of the abuse allegations, John Smyth, is now dead and will never face a human court of justice. The report commissioned by the Church of England was released by Keith Makin, who led an independent review. The report reveals that church authorities, including the archbishop of Canterbury, should have reported the abuse to law enforcement authorities, who could well have prosecuted Smyth.

Welby’s position became untenable when political leaders such as Prime Minister Keir Starmer and at least one church bishop called for his resignation. The decisive signal apparently came from King Charles III. The British monarch is the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, which is an official state church. Evidently, that still matters.

Welby’s resignation sets in motion a process for choosing his successor. The matter goes to a crown commission, which advises the prime minister and, eventually, King Charles. The process is likely to take several months, though the pressure to put a new archbishop in place will be enormous.

The entire matter, horrible as it is in moral terms, also requires us to take stock of what remains of the Church of England and what lessons are to be learned.

The Church of England resulted from the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century. At the same time, the emergence of an English church independent of the papacy came with a combination of seismic theological, political, and cultural changes—many of them revolving around King Henry VIII and his six wives. The Church of England emerged with something of a two-party system that included both ardent advocates of the Reformation and those who wished to retain as much Catholic worship and practice as possible. By the time you get to the 19th century, the church had a three-party system of evangelicals on the right, liberals on the left, and Anglo-Catholics growing in influence. The Church of England prided itself on having forged a “middle way” between classic Protestantism and Roman Catholicism. And, as so often happens with middle ways, the project became amorphous. The church went so far as to claim “comprehensiveness” in doctrine—a claim often asserted but never really defined. When liberalism is an option, liberalism eventually wins.

Back in the 19th century, novelist Anthony Trollope famously described the Church of England as “the only church that interferes neither with your politics nor your religion.”

When Justin Welby became the 105th archbishop of Canterbury, some described him as an evangelical of sorts. He had entered the ministry of the Church of England after a career in upper management of an oil company. He had an interest in charismatic groups such as the Vineyard Movement led by John Wimber. He was presented as a stabilizing establishment choice to lead a church in radical decline.

But Archbishop Welby became a parable of theological equivocation and evasion at the very time his church desperately needed clarity, conviction, and clear direction. When serving as a parish priest, he affirmed the Bible’s clear teachings on homosexuality, sexual expression, and marriage. Back in 1999, Welby stated, “Throughout the Bible, it is clear that the right place for sex is only within a committed, heterosexual marriage.” As recently as 2003, Welby had affirmed the same position, arguing that “sexual practice is for marriage, and marriage is between men and women and that’s the Biblical position.”

But Welby caved. Indeed he crashed. Asked in a media interview if gay sex is sinful, he responded, “I haven’t got a good answer.” It was an astounding admission. It was a display of flat-out ministerial failure. It was either a lie (since he had been able to answer the question quite clearly in the past) or it was an indication that he had switched sides in the controversy (which he didn’t appear to possess the courage to admit) or an admission of sheer abdication of responsibility (which it obviously was).

Fast-forward to just weeks ago and the archbishop went back on the same broadcast with the same interviewer and, predictably, was asked the same question again. This time, Welby chose Option 2 and simply advised that he affirms “that all sexual activity should be within a committed relationship.” He then added, “Whether it’s straight or gay.” What a disgrace.

The Church of England is in a free fall in terms of attendance and public influence. Anglican churches around the world, including in many African nations, are rejecting Canterbury’s authority. Welby presided over state funerals and the coronation of King Charles III, but he deserves to be best remembered as the archbishop of Canterbury who just surrendered to the modern age, LGBTQ activists, and the sexual revolution. Biblical authority and Christian clarity on sex, marriage, and gender—all thrown overboard by the archbishop himself.

In actuality, Justin Welby will be remembered as the archbishop of Canterbury who, at the very least, did not prevent a cover-up of sexual abuse. That, too, serves as a stark warning. The whole thing, as my grandmother would say, just stinks to high heaven. You bet it does.