Know the Truth

Cultural divisions between First and Third World Bishops became apparent at the Conference. These were brought to a head in an absorbing debate between David Jenkins of Durham and David Gitari of Nairobi. Both speakers were excellent, but the evening belonged to the developing world, as David Gitari spoke with real fire and passion, whereas, as I wrote in my diary that evening: ‘David Jenkins’ address was brilliant but had no cutting edge or call to discipleship.’ To me, it simply lacked Christian conviction.

Lambeth ’88 will always be remembered as the Conference at which Bishops of the developing countries ‘came of age’ and spoke with confidence and authority. They were no longer prepared simply to make up the numbers, or to take orders from white Bishops. They were the ones bearing the heat of persecution or the cost of poverty, and this gave them an authority that others lacked. It was largely the Bishops from the developing countries who gave impetus to one of the few Resolutions that was to have significance in the days ahead. Arising from the Pope’s call to make the 1990s a Decade of Evangelisation, the motion that the Anglican Communion should declare it a Decade of Evangelism won overwhelming support. Resolution 44 read: This Conference

Calls for a shift to dynamic missionary emphasis going beyond care and nurture to proclamation and service; and therefore

Accepts the challenge this presents to diocese and local church structures and patterns of worship and ministry, and looks to God for a fresh movement of the Spirit in prayer, outgoing love and evangelism in obedience to our Lord’s command.

Inspiring and splendid as the Resolution undoubtedly was, I walked away from the conference hall rather uneasy. We had failed to ask how this could be achieved. Everyone can agree that the world ought to be a better place, but mere words will not make it so. Structured action is required, a budget has to be prepared, leaders have to be chosen. Nothing like that was done, and that remains the central failure of the Decade of Evangelism, even though it achieved a great deal through its implementation by too few people.

For those of us from the Church of England it was good to be reminded how others saw us. In the words of a former Free Church Moderator, Professor Elizabeth Templeton, ‘the Church of England is a kind of ecclesiastical duck-billed platypus’. And yet, as one Third World Bishop observed, it was through this ‘strange Church in the United Kingdom that missionaries came to tell my people about Jesus. I shall always be grateful to you.’

At the ’88 Lambeth I had the great honour to present one of the most significant ecumenical motions ever put to an international Christian body: that ‘This Conference recognises that the Agreed Statements of ARCIC 1 on “Eucharistic Doctrine, Ministry and Ordination” … offer a sufficient basis for taking the next step forward towards the reconciliation of our Churches [Roman Catholic and Anglican] grounded in agreement in faith.’ I spoke briefly to the motion, offering the opinion that our ready acceptance of the work done by ARCIC (the Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission) would not only encourage the ecumenical theologians in their continuing work, but would signal to the Roman Catholic Church that the Anglican Communion was ready to move into an even deeper reality of Communion. The motion was overwhelmingly accepted, with just one absention.

Tuesday, 17 July 1990 will forever remain etched in my memory. At the end of the staff meeting at the Bishop’s Palace in Wells, one of my secretaries told me that Robin Catford, the Prime Minister’s Secretary for Senior Appointments, had phoned earlier. I was asked to call back as soon as possible.

I was intrigued. Why did he want to speak to me? The announcement of Robert Runcie’s retirement as Archbishop of Canterbury had been made some months previously, and I knew that the Crown Appointments Commission was due to meet soon. Not for one moment did I think I would be a candidate, and assumed that my advice was being sought concerning possible contenders for this crucial appointment. As soon as lunch was over, I phoned.

‘George, are you likely to be in London in the next few days?’ Robin asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I was in London for a meeting yesterday, and the next time I’m due to be there is in September. Can it wait until then?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ came the reply. ‘I need to see you very soon.’

I was even more intrigued. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I suppose I could make a special effort. My day off is Monday. I could see you next week. Is the matter so important that you would want to break into my day off?’

The answer was swift, and made me anxious. ‘Yes. I need to see you as soon as possible.’

I decided to push him. ‘If it’s that important, you must come to me. I commence a Teaching Mission on Thursday. I’ll be speaking at a school near Bath at 10 a.m., but I’m free for two hours after that. I’ll meet you at Bath railway station.’

‘Right,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll look at the timetable, but I’ll have to catch the next train back to London, because I must return for the Royal Garden Party.’

I reported this conversation to Eileen. What could be so important that Robin would come all the way to Bath to see me on Thursday, then rush straight back to London for the Royal Garden Party? Surely it couldn’t be ‘Canterbury’? The thought seemed laughable. I had been a Bishop for less than thirty months, and it was surely ridiculous that one of the newest Bishops could be considered for this great office. We reasoned that Robin must be coming for some other reason – perhaps it was to seek my advice about another person who was under consideration. But then again, it might have nothing to do with ‘Canterbury’. Even so, we were unsettled. We agreed that after seeing Robin I would meet up with Eileen at the most convenient spot for us both, which happened to be a pub on the outskirts of Bath.

I got to Bath about thirty minutes before Robin’s train arrived. I went straight away to Pratt’s Hotel near the station, and explained to the manager that I required a room to discuss some private matters with a friend from London.

I met Robin, and escorted him to the hotel. The manager was in the foyer, and came across to meet us. With no knowledge of the identity of my visitor, but possibly with a nose for intrigue, he said, ‘You’re not coming to take our Bishop away, are you? Is it Canterbury?’

‘Come on,’ I laughed. ‘I’m one of the newest Bishops on the bench. Of course not.’

Robin and I went to the room I had reserved, and after a few minutes of desultory conversation he said, ‘Well, I suppose we had better get down to business. I have a letter here from the Prime Minister.’

My blood ran cold. I opened the white envelope and read Mrs Thatcher’s invitation to accept the Crown’s offer of the See of Canterbury.

I laid the envelope on the table, looked up and stared into Robin’s face. ‘Robin,’ I said, ‘I need to ask you one question. Am I the first name, or the second name? I must have the answer to that question before we go any further.’

He replied in a level voice, looking at me steadily, ‘I can confirm that you are the Commission’s choice. You are the first name.’

I explained to him that I needed to know this, and that had it been otherwise I would not have accepted, because I was so inexperienced as a Bishop that the call had to be clear.

To say that I was shocked by the letter would be an understatement. I was deeply troubled. My work at Bath and Wells had just begun, and there were so many things I wanted to do. Eileen and I loved the diocese, and had expected to spend the rest of our working life in Somerset. I explained my turmoil to Robin, and said there were so many other good men in the House of Bishops who should have been considered. What about John Habgood, the Archbishop of York? Or David Sheppard, and other able men like them?

Robin agreed that they were able, and said they had been considered, but that the Commission felt a younger person, who could give at least ten full years to the role, ought to be invited. Furthermore, a different approach was felt to be necessary, and they had wanted an Archbishop with a yearning to put mission at the very top of his agenda. In short, the Commission believed that I was the person with the gifts required.

For nearly an hour we discussed the issues. I told Robin that I had never made a momentous decision without prayer and a full discussion with Eileen, but under pressure from him I promised I would get back to him as soon as possible. I warned him, however, that I was in the middle of a Teaching Mission which would not end until Sunday evening. I walked with him to the station, then returned to the Teaching Mission in Midsomer Norton with this staggering question: Should I accept the Prime Minister’s offer?

In a daze I drove to the pub where Eileen was waiting. It was a lovely sunny day and we sat outside in the grounds overlooking the beautiful city of Bath, hardly appreciating the food before us. Eileen read the Prime Minister’s letter, and we looked at one another with disbelief and astonishment. What were we to do? It would not be too much to say that we were both petrified and dismayed. One thing was clear, however. I had never sought a post in the Church, but equally I had never turned anything down. I have always had a high doctrine of obedience to the Church, and believed that if, after due processes and much prayer, it had decided to call me, I could scarcely refuse.

With a hurried farewell to Eileen I rushed away to resume the Teaching Mission, and the whirl of activities put this momentous matter almost out of my mind. But in between the various events – a Mothers’ Union service, a young people’s event and an evening speaking engagement in a marquee at Radstock – the terrifying invitation kept leaping into my mind. What was I to make of it?

I phoned Eileen late in the evening and we talked again at great length. There seemed only one answer we could give: it had to be ‘yes’. I asked Eileen to phone Robin to say that I was prepared to accept the Prime Minister’s invitation. My private diary takes up the story: ‘Had a terrible night and simply could not sleep. Fear was present. Will I be ridiculed and mocked for my lack of experience? … What an awesome responsibility!’

The next day, there was another bombshell. The Prime Minister wished to see me on Tuesday. Could we go to Downing Street to meet her? We accepted, and following the final Teaching Mission event on Sunday evening we travelled to London to stay with our son Andrew.

On the Tuesday the Prime Minister was engaged in a reshuffle of Ministers, and I was asked not to go to 10 Downing Street, where the press would immediately put two and two together, but instead to go to Number 11, wearing an ordinary shirt and tie. We walked through a rabbit warren of corridors into Number 10, where in Robin’s office I changed into my clerical shirt and dog-collar. Eileen and I met Margaret Thatcher in the famous Green Room. She greeted us warmly and then, to our astonishment, proceeded to speak at inordinate length. I glanced at my watch at one point and realised that she had scarcely drawn breath for eight minutes. I asked myself in desperation, ‘How on earth do I get a word in edgeways? I must say something!’

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