Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury under Henry VIII, Edward VI and, fatally, Mary I, may have lived at a time of extreme political volatility but, according to religious historian Owen Chadwick, he spent three-quarters of each day studying, before enjoying riding, shooting, walking or chess. Like Cranmer, the next occupant of Lambeth Palace will lead the Church of England at a time of political turmoil, but with Sunday attendance waning, constant infighting and relentless headlines about abuse, they will probably not enjoy the same relaxed lifestyle.
These days, the archbishop of Canterbury has four major roles. They are bishop of the Diocese of Canterbury, metropolitan bishop of the province of Canterbury (which includes everywhere south of Yorkshire, as well as all of continental Europe, Morocco, Turkey and the former Soviet Union), Primate of All England and spiritual leader of the worldwide Anglican Communion. Oh, and they will have an automatic seat in the House of Lords. The job is so preposterous that a 2001 review by Conservative peer Douglas Hurd proposed dividing it between two if not three people. This being the Church, the review was quietly shelved without any significant reform.
Successive archbishops have insisted that the power attached to the post is limited, and they should not be seen as the CEO of the C of E. It is true that the executive functions of the Church are a tangled mess. That’s one of the many reasons why it has spectacularly malfunctioned over safeguarding against abuse in recent years. There are few things that attract abusers so much as administrative chaos.
Much of the real control is exercised by the 42 diocesan bishops, and by the lawyers, accountants and civil servants who run the National Church Institutions from their base in Church House, Westminster. Nevertheless, the occupant of Lambeth Palace exercises huge patronage, convening power and a literal “bully pulpit” from which they can influence politicians and policymakers, and make headlines worldwide with a few words. The archbishop is, after all, the most senior person in England and Wales outside the Royal Family, above the lord high chancellor and the prime minister.
The procedure for appointing a new archbishop of Canterbury was drawn up on the recommendation of the same Owen Chadwick, who chaired a 1970 commission on Church and State. The process makes the selection of a new pope, as described in the book Conclave and its recent film adaptation, look like a Mothers’ Union tea party.
The decision rests with the Crown Nominations Commission (CNC), a panel of 17 voting members, plus sundry advisers. The proceedings of the CNC are a secret, and its members are required to make a declaration of confidentiality. The group will meet for the first time in May, then again in July, and is due to make its decision in mid-September. After that a recommendation will be made to the prime minister, and thence to the King, who will make the appointment. So an archbishop crowns the king, and the king effectively crowns the next archbishop. All of this, if you so choose to believe, is instituted and directed by God.
The chair of the CNC is appointed by the prime minister. In this case, the job has gone to Lord Evans of Weardale. He is a previous director general of MI5 and former chair of the Committee on Standards in Public Life who grew up in the Baptist church and led the Christian Union during his time at Bristol University.
As with the selection of a pope, a minimum of two-thirds of the voters need to agree on one name. The difference is that there are around 140 cardinals in the conclave. With only 17 voting members on the CNC, just six dissenters can prevent an appointment, so the makeup of the CNC is crucial. It will include the archbishop of York, Stephen Cottrell. He will be joined by the bishop of Norwich, Graham Usher, who was elected by his -fellow bishops. York and Norwich started off as first and second favourites for the job, but by joining the CNC they have both ruled themselves out. Then there will be six members from the General Synod, chosen by a strange system in which six contrasting pairs of candidates are elected, then decide between themselves which will serve. Even with one conservative-leaning member having to withdraw over safeguarding issues, the slate is strongly anti-LGBT+ equality.
Canterbury Diocese gets three votes on the CNC. The makeup of this group has itself been disputed. Delegates had been elected by the Canterbury Diocesan Synod to serve until 2027, but now that the diocese is involved in selecting a new archbishop, a new election has been called. It is hard not to see this as a form of gerrymandering by the hierarchy in the diocese, which is relatively liberal.
The five remaining members of the CNC come from the five ecclesiastical provinces of the worldwide Anglican church. Their inclusion is an innovation engineered by Justin Welby himself, in an attempt to shore up the fragmenting Anglican Communion. Africa alone has almost twice as many Anglicans as England, so to choose a leader without any representation for them felt uncomfortably colonial. In theory, the new archbishop could come from any part of the world—though to have, say, an American bishop taking an automatic seat in the House of Lords and potentially crowning the next monarch of the United Kingdom stretches the imagination. The inclusion of overseas delegates is likely to skew the CNC, as most of the Anglican Communion is strongly conservative. Three-quarters of Anglicans worship in churches that still don’t accept that women can be bishops.
An online survey by the Church asked churchgoers what qualities they are looking for in a new archbishop. Deep spirituality and pastoral sensitivity always come out top, but in truth the decision is strongly political. There have already been online consultations at which various factions have expressed their feelings. Lobbying the CNC is discouraged, but the reality is that the clergy of the Church of England are deeply tribal, and many of them want more than anything to see someone from their own group get the job. When Welby was elected in 2013, many conservative evangelicals saw it as a triumph. For all his theological vacillation, they had “their man” in Lambeth Palace. Welby was born in the shadow of Holy Trinity Church, Brompton (HTB), in west London. He was baptised there, twice, as it happens, as an infant and when he “converted” as an undergraduate. His vision for the Church was for HTB’s model to be replicated across the country. The HTB network, and its even more conservative allies, are by far the loudest and wealthiest sector in the Church.
Several large churches in England already refuse to recognise any liberal bishop, and whole provinces elsewhere in the world are threatening to leave or, as in the cases of Uganda, Nigeria and Rwanda, have all but left. It takes a certain madness to put your name forward for the top job in this busted organisation, and anyone who wants it probably shouldn’t get it.
Read it all in Prospect