Theo Hobson

The Russell Brand story shows, once again, how sexual morality is only usually debated in relation to allegations of abuse made against male celebrities. I’m tired of the way this happens – and think it’s a pity that ethics around sex aren’t talked about more widely. The status quo means that the scope of the discussion is narrow, and its tone self-righteous.  To widen the scope is dangerous, of course. It means admitting that our culture is in a major muddle about sex, and it’s a muddle that affects us all: there’s no enlightened camp. We don’t know what sex is. Can it be safely separated from committed relationships? Can someone have a lot of casual sex and also be a decent person?

Justin Welby is not my sort of Anglican. Or maybe he is, in a way. I’m not really sure who he is. And I don’t mean that entirely negatively. When he was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, the Church seemed to be opting for cheesy banality after the intellectual roller-coaster of his predecessor, Rowan Williams. It was a slightly dangerous roller-coaster, to be sure, with some alarming rusty bits, and stomach-plunging drops, but always interesting.  Welby looked like a beta male from the Alpha course, the slick evangelical outfit led by public school officer-class types. I had my gripes about Williams, but he seemed a Hyperion to this satyr. I have moved to a more nuanced view. Welby might not be an illustrious theologian, but he is no fool.

A bishop said something significant at General Synod last week. I promise you. Something that might even herald a new era of straight-talking, from which revival might spring. We’ll get to this surprising utterance shortly.  First, less surprisingly, the Archbishop of York opened proceedings with a predictable pudding of pious evasion. Unity is a sacred thing, and so the disunity of Christians is an unholy scandal, he said, quoting Pope Francis to this effect. This sounds like harmless ecumenical piety, but in the context it is pretty unhelpful. In fact it’s defeatist. In effect, he was saying that the Church of England is in the position of global Christianity. Its unity is not to be expected before Christ’s return. The context is this.

Why is Wes Streeting, the shadow health secretary, not more strident on the subject of religion and sexuality? The Labour MP has spoken in the House of Commons about his dismay at the Church of England’s feet-dragging over gay marriage. Yet in an interview with Theos think tank, ahead of the publication of his memoir, Streeting resisted denouncing the homophobes holding back the Church. Instead, Streeting was measured, and rather understated. Unlike many gay Christians, he didn’t sound evangelical about the reformist cause, but admitted that it was a profoundly difficult issue, on which people disagree in good faith. I suppose the diplomatic pragmatism of the politician is a factor in this approach, but that doesn’t discredit it.

St Mary Redcliffe church, in Bristol, has removed four stained-glass windows dedicated to the slave trader Edward Colston, he whose statue was recently toppled and sunk. So far, so good. It is set to replace them with four new images of Jesus. Sort of. Most of them are not exactly images of Jesus, but modern scenes in which he is present, identified by a halo. In one, he is a child on an overloaded migrant dinghy. In another, he is hanging out in Bristol with some multicultural neighbours. In another, he is joining a racial justice protest – Bristol’s famous 1963 bus boycott. The fourth is more traditional: he is on a ship calming the storm. Depicting Jesus in a modern setting is not necessarily a bad idea, but it’s risky, and one of these windows gets it a bit wrong.

This coronation season, punditry is bristling with acute reflections on the British constitution, especially its religious aspect. Or maybe not. There is more comment on Succession (an American TV show that half-satirises, three-quarters worships capitalist excess). But is it not at least a little bit interesting that we officially remain a Protestant theocracy? The Protestantism of the coronation oath is widely seen as an embarrassing relic from a more sectarian age. The King will promise to defend Protestantism, and protect the Church of England. He won’t say anything unfriendly about Catholicism, but those in the know will know that the Act of Settlement of 1701 remains in place, excluding Catholics from the throne.  What are we meant to think about this?

The Church of England is in for an explosive summer. In February, Synod decided to allow the blessing of gay couples, and hinted that it will lift the ban on actively gay clergy. Conservative evangelicals have warned the bishops that if they really go ahead with this they will create a split that dwarfs the division over the ordination of women. The bishops have accepted that this is on the cards: a ‘settlement of differentiation’ is likely to be needed, they have said, meaning new structures for the conservatives. Now there’s an awkward wait before the bishops’ next announcement, expected by July.  On one level, what’s new? The evangelicals have been semi-separate for decades.

The fuss over Kate Forbes’ opposition to gay marriage shows that the concept of marriage has become a serious muddle. The depth of the muddle tends to be evaded, as pundits don’t generally want to admit that a basic thing like marriage is really confusing.  But it is. It’s oddly hard to say what marriage is. Does it still have a religious dimension? Or is it an essentially secular thing that only has a religious dimension if you’re religious? It’s oddly hard to say what marriage is. Does it still have a religious dimension? Or is it a secular thing? Until recently, such questions troubled no one. Marriage was a mix of religious and secular elements, but the ambiguity was unproblematic.

The breaking news is that Sandi Toksvig has demanded a meeting with God, over a friendly cup of tea. The BBC broadcaster has grown impatient with his vacillating human intermediaries and wants to explain to him what should happen in the religion that he allegedly launched. Love should come first, she plans to tell him. If he can’t reorganise his religion around this simple principle, he no longer deserves to be taken seriously as a modern deity. The gay vicars that I know are sanguine Toksvig is presumably unimpressed by the latest news from the Church of England's Synod. As expected, bishops have got approval for their compromise: no to gay marriage, yes to church blessings for same-sex couples. It’s not enough, say progressives, including some MPs.

The Church of England will soon launch a commission on the question of gendered language in relation to God. Is this big news? It depends what the commission proposes. Even if it proposes big changes, the synod would have to vote them through. And a two-thirds majority, voting in favour of removing the word ‘father’ from the Lord’s Prayer, seems unlikely. But that’s what some reports are suggesting, whether through clumsiness or a mischievous glee at the prospect of further Anglican division.

Prince Harry is not a Christian believer, he tells us in his book Spare. Fair enough. Every British person is entitled to choose what religion, if any, to follow. Well, almost every British person. His father has a bit less freedom to decide that traditional religion is not his thing. So does his 'arch nemesis'. The point underlines the culture of constraint from which he has freed himself. If William said the same, a constitutional crisis would ensue. It’s a good example of how unreasonable his whole crusade is. His stance only makes sense if he goes all the way and denounces the monarchy entirely. He wants to be fully royal and also fully honest - an edgy and frank royal rather than a yes-man, a square.