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1 Growth and management in the Church of England â some charts1
The Church of England, in every age, has faced fundamental challenges. Many would cite the challenge of secularisation or consumerism in our time as one of the tougher trials the church has had to negotiate. I am less sure, however. But I do think there are two distinct challenges facing the church today. Or rather, it is one challenge but with two faces, much like a coin. The single-most pressing challenge that the church faces today is that of distraction; and its two sides are mission and management. We appear to be preoccupied with both, and to such an extent that the Church of England now finds that its energies are consumed with perpetual drives towards efficiency and productivity.
Yet the church exists to glorify God and follow Jesus Christ. After which it may grow; or it may not. Its performance may improve too; or it may not. But it is imperative that faithfulness is always put before any search for success. Indeed, for the vast majority of the population of England, church-talk of mission and numbers tends to drive away far more people than it ever draws near. Evelyn Underhill, writing to Archbishop Lang on the eve of the 1930 Lambeth Conference, reminded him that the world was not especially hungry for what the church was immediately preoccupied with. Underhill put it sharply in her letter: âmay it please your Grace . . . I desire to humbly suggest that the interesting thing about religion is God; and the people are hungry for Godâ.2
Preoccupied with productivity?
As any student of early church history will know, the beguiling attraction of the very first heresies and heterodoxies lay in their simplicity. They presented the most attractive solutions to any immediate and apparently unsolvable problems. For the first generations of Christians, these usually lay in the sphere of doctrine and praxis. For us as a church today, the presenting problem appears to be declining numbers in our congregations. Ergo, an urgent emphasis on numerical church growth must be the answer. Right, surely?
Wrong, actually. The first priority of the church is to follow Jesus Christ. This may be a costly calling, involving self-denial, depletion and death. Following Jesus may not lead us to any numerical growth. The first priority of the church is to love the Lord with all our heart, mind, soul and strength, and our neighbours as ourselves (Lk. 10: 25). There is no greater commandment. So the numerical growth of the church cannot be a greater priority than the foundational mandate set before us by Jesus. As Stanley Hauerwas and William H Willimon warn,
It was Karl Barth who observed that the true growth of the church is not to be thought of in mainly extensive terms, but rather in those that are intensive. He argued that the vertical (or intensive) growth of the church â in both height and depth in relation to God â does not necessarily lead to any extensive numerical growth. He added that âwe cannot, therefore, strive for vertical renewal merely to produce a wider audienceâ. Barth concluded that if the Church and its mission are used only as a means of extensive growth, the inner life of the church loses its meaning and power: âthe church can be fulfilled only for its own sake, and then â unplanned and unarranged â it will bear its own fruitsâ.4 That would seem to settle the matter. Moreover, many parish clergy, and those working in all kinds of sector ministries, already know this to be true. The church does not exist to grow exponentially. Mission is deeper than that. The church exists to be the body of Christ.
The pastoral theologian Eugene Peterson once commented that the one thing he had learned in mission and ministry is how complex measurable growth can be. Here, Peterson draws on the theologian, essayist, poet and farmer, Wendell Berry. Peterson says that under Berryâs tutelage he has learnt that âparish work is every bit as physical as farm work: it is about these people, at this time under these conditionsâ.5
The pastoral turn towards an agrarian motif is arresting. Jesus told a number of parables about growth, and they are all striking for their simplicity and surprise. Especially the allegory of the sower (Mt. 13: 3â9, etc.). This parable probably should be the template for all Diocesan Mission Action Plans. For what Jesus is saying to the church is this: have regard for your neighbourâs context and conditions. So, you might work in a parish with the richest soil, where every seed planted springs to life. The seasons are kind; the vegetation lush; the harvest plentiful. But some places are stony ground, and faithful mission and ministry in that field might be picking out the rocks for several generations. Others labour under conditions where the seeds are often destroyed before they can ever germinate. Or perhaps the weather is extreme in other places, and here we may find that although initial growth is quick, it seldom lasts.
The question the parable throws back to the church is this: what kind of growth can you expect from the ground and conditions you work with? And this is where our current unilateral emphasis on numerical church growth can be so demoralising and disabling. Is it really the case that every leader of numerical church growth is a more spiritually faithful and technically-gifted pastor than their less successful neighbour? The parable says ânoâ to this. It implies that some churches labour in harsh conditions; some in fairer. So be wise to the different contexts in which our individual and collective ministries take place.
I mention this for one very obvious reason. If we continue to place the heterodoxy of numerical growth at the heart of the church, we risk eroding our character, and our morale. Some will argue, no doubt, that if you aim at nothing, youâll hit it every time. Better to have a target and a plan than to just keep plodding on. Maybe. But the Charge of the Light Brigade (1854) had vision, courage, objectives, and some strategy; these were not in short supply. But the rest, as they say, is history.
Factors producing numerical church growth and decline are always complex. But the church might need to do some basic work on our maths. In the secular world, one plus one equals two. But counting and adding whole numbers in the church is fuzzy logic. Is a newly baptised infant âone unitâ in terms of believers? Does the person who comes every week, but has more doubt than faith count as âoneâ or a âhalfâ? Is the regular, but not frequent churchgoer âoneâ, or less? Does the person who comes to everything in church, but has a heart of stone, count as one? Or less?
We know that God counts generously. The poor, the lame, the sick, the sinners; all are promised a place at Godâs table in his kingdom. Thatâs why Jesus was seldom interested in quantity; the Kingdom is about enriching quality, even in small numbers. Yet we live a culture that is obsessed by measuring things numerically, and judging success from this. Fortunately, God is loving enough to tell us lots of counter-cultural stories about numbers: going after one, and leaving the ninety-nine, for example. Or, dwelling on a single sparrow; or numbering the hairs left on your head.
Godâs maths are different to ours. And God does not easily concur with our cultural obsessions with âgrowth-equals-successâ. No-one denies the urgency of mission, and for the church to address numerical growth. But the church does not exist to grow. It exists to glorify God and follow Jesus Christ. After which it may grow; or it may not. So faithfulness must always be put before the search for success.
So the key to understanding numerical church growth might be to engage in some deeper and more discerning readings of our contexts â the very soil we seek to nourish and bless, so the seeds can flourish. This will usually be more a complex piece of work than simply announcing another new vision or plan for mission. The metaphor is intended here: there is work to be done on the ground.
To be sure, we need leaders who can ride the cultural waves of our time. But we also need other leaders who can read the tides, and the deeper cultural currents of our age. Our recent emphasis on numerical church growth â borne largely from fear, not faith â has led to the unbalanced ascendancy of mission-minded middle-managers.
It is hard to imagine a Michael Ramsey, William Temple or Edward King receiving preferment in the current climate. If all leaders must now make obeisance before the altar of numerical church growth, we will erode our character and mute our mission. The veneration of growth squeezes out the space for broader gifts in leadership that can nourish the church and engage the world. As with all things Anglican, it is a question of balance. No-one can or should say that an emphasis on numerical church growth is wrong. It isnât. The issue is one of proportion. There are no bad foods, only bad diets. And the continued over-emphasis on numerical growth skews the weight and measure in the body of our leadership.
This is a more subtle disproportion than it might at first appear. It was said of the late Cardinal Basil Hume that âhe had the gift of being able to talk to the English about God without making them wish they were somewhere elseâ. The value of this gift should not be underestimated. And for our national mission, this is precisely why we need a leadership that incorporates space for the holy and devout; the gentle pastor; the poet and the prophet; the teacher and theologian; and possibly a radical or two for good measure.
The church may not always draw near to such leaders. But the nation often does â especially those who donât usually go to church. For the first time since the Reformation, we now have no bishops who have held a university post in theology. The nation may not notice this explicitly, but at a subliminal level, it will certainly sense the lack. So for the sake of national mission, and our credibility, we may want to intentionally develop a broader range of leaders than the very singular objective of numerical church growth currently allows for.
But let us return to numbers. Some of the most recent figures for numerical church growth in the Church of England offer up some surprising anomalies. In the 2010/11 Church Statistics,6 many dioceses that had well-developed mission strategies showed continuing numerical decline. Only a few did not. Perhaps the greatest surprise was to discover one diocese that had enjoyed significant numerical growth â a whopping 17 per cent in average weekly and usual Sunday attendance. Ironically, this was led by a bishop who had seemingly little in the way of experience in mission and ministry. Like Basil Hume, the bishop had not been a parish priest, and could not tick any of the boxes that indicated he had led any congregation to numerical growth.
The diocese was Canterbury. And the bishop was someone who also had the gift of being able to talk about God in public. Having a knack for imaginative, reflective and refractive public theology and spirituality does indeed intrigue and draw in people who might not otherwise pay attention to the rumour of God.
So by welcoming some teachers, poets and prophets amongst our leadership, and those who point us imaginatively and compellingly to Christ, we might yet discover an even richer, more effective purpose in our mission. And in so doing, also find some other routes to numerical growth along the way.
Over-managed, theologically under-led?
What then, of management? Here, I do not propose to rehearse the extensive and helpful contributions of Richard Roberts to the debates on management and leadership in institutions such as universities, and by implication and extension, our churches. His recent work in this field is sublime and matchless. Instead, I want to begin with a story.7
A few years ago, a guest of mine waited in the Common Room of Cuddesdon with a cup of tea until it was time to meet. She sat and read, but quickly found herself tuning in to a conversation some distance away between three ordinands, gathered around the fire. The subject was âhow to get on in the churchâ â granted, a tiresome-though-typical conversation between students at any theological college. One said it was important to make sure you went to a high-profile parish as a curate. Another, that the key was connections â making the most of who you knew, not what. The third said that what was needed were intellectual qualifications â ideally, a doctorate in theology.
What my guest found strange was the way the first two ordinands rounded on the third. Being theologically well-qualified was fine if you wanted to specialise, they said. But as fo...
