It is a great pleasure and honour for me to be with you this
evening to deliver the annual 'One People Oration'
- following as I do a distinguished line of previous
speakers.
It is also a special joy to be delivering this lecture as part
of a series of 'Jubilee Reflections' here at
Westminster Abbey. Actually, my own reflections this evening are
not about our much-loved Monarch - I have been privileged to
say something on that subject in another great church recently. But
they are linked to the understanding of Jubilee that we have from
Scripture and the celebration of God's love for humanity.
It was when I read Simon Schama's wonderful book Landscape
and Memory some years ago that I became fully aware of the
importance of landscape for our identity and historical journey as
human beings. It was fascinating to discover that Simon Schama and
I shared the same geographical roots. Indeed, the skyline of
Southend with its colourful pier and the Thames estuary, both of
which he evokes so powerfully, filled my childhood imagination
also.
Ever since reading that book I have paid much more attention to
the changing images of landscape and skyline, especially to the
changes that humankind has imposed on nature. No doubt each one of
us has his or her favourite skyline - whether it is Paris,
London, Hong Kong or New York.
For myself, the view of the skyline of New York from a plane
landing at La Guardia Airport is one of the most majestic I have
ever seen. Dominating it until last autumn were, of course, the
twin towers of the World Trade Centre, with their bold statements
about power and wealth. The shattering attack on those soaring
symbols of Western capitalism last September 11th not only altered
radically the skyline of New York, it also made us more aware than
we have ever been, I suspect, of our vulnerability to sudden and
unpredictable change. Suddenly, what had seemed immovable was gone.
The skyline and so much else had altered beyond recognition. The
landscape had become memory.
But the title of my address also evokes another skyline. The
phrase, 'A City Set On A Hill', comes directly from
Christ's teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. It reflects the
practice of building towns and cities on hilltops for strategic
reasons so that approaching armies could be spotted in good time
and a defensive strategy prepared.
But Jesus makes of the skyline an unusual metaphor for belief
and behaviour. His followers should not be motivated by defensive
and self-protective concerns, but rather should be like a shining
city whose bright lights are clearly visible in the darkness for
miles around. 'You are the light of the world' Christ
had already told his followers. They were not to hide the truth,
but rather to bear confident witness to it.
In a rapidly changing and highly unpredictable world, that
challenge can be a daunting one, but it is one from which
Christians cannot and must not shrink. In times of darkness, the
light must shine forth brightly.
Some years ago, the American writer Alvin Toffler, in
considering the human dynamics of rapid change, coined the phrase
'future shock'. According to Toffler, 'future
shock' is the 'shattering stress and disorientation
that we induce in individuals by subjecting them to too much change
in too short a time.'
And perhaps it would not be exaggerating to say that the past
decade or so has been 'future shock' inducing.
Communist regimes in Eastern Europe and the apartheid regime in
South Africa - both of which had seemed all too permanent
- have suddenly collapsed. Those are shocks that, though
stressful and disorientating for many, we can and do welcome. But
many of the other recent 'shocks' have not been causes
for celebration or rejoicing. Despite optimistic predictions to the
contrary, warfare and violent unrest have continued to be the cruel
fate of nations and peoples - in the Balkans, in the Middle
East, in Africa and Asia. In a time of plenty, famine and hunger
stalk parts of the globe. In the wake of warfare and want, we are
witnessing massive displacements of people, seeking a safer and
more secure place to rebuild shattered and vulnerable lives.
Some of them do so in developed societies like our own. But here
too, many people feel that the instability and unpredictability of
their lives are in danger of overwhelming them. Crime and drugs,
pollution and waste, the erosion of a sense of solidarity and
community are among the symptoms that lead some to conclude that at
heart we are an insecure, dissatisfied and unhappy people.
Although some of us are better at dealing with it than others,
we often view the prospect of change with trepidation and dread.
Just when we seem to have found a comfort zone, life throws
something new at us, something that challenges our sense of who and
where we are. In such circumstances, the temptation can be to
withdraw - to focus constantly inward and never outward. Like
turtles, we try to take cover in our shells, hoping that we can
avoid the pain and anxiety of change. We become wilfully
short-sighted. Our vision narrows.
The Church knows these dangers too. It is all too easy and
tempting for us to want to withdraw, to shrink away from the
daunting challenges of a dramatically changed and changing world.
There are times, of course, when the Church needs to look inward
and to examine itself, but only so as to strengthen her capacity
for mission.
Perhaps no change - or images of change - have in
recent times struck us with greater force and immediacy, or been
more shocking, than those terrible events on September 11th last
year. They impacted on both of the kinds of landscape I described
in my introduction - the physical landscape of Manhattan of
course, but also upon the landscape of the human spirit. And
inevitably for those who lost loved ones, friends and relations
that impact was all the more devastating.
My lecture this evening carries the subtitle 'The Mission
of the Church in Changed Times'. And in the wake of September
11th, I want to focus on three particular challenges for that
mission to which I think September 11th has given new edge and
fresh urgency. They are the challenge of globalisation, the
challenge of relations between different faiths, and the challenge
of secularisation. And as I look at each of these areas I shall be
seeking to find pointers to a Christian response in my own
experience over the last eleven-and-a-half years as Archbishop of
Canterbury.
Let me begin with globalisation. I could spend the rest of my
time with you this evening - and a good bit more I imagine
- trying to find an all-encompassing definition of this great
buzzword - and even then be quite likely to fail! But it is
clearly based, in many minds, in the world of economics. This is an
approach that centres the meaning of globalisation in the
development of a global economy built on Western capitalist lines.
That certainly appears to have been part of what the perpetrators
of the attacks on September 11th seem to have thought they were
targeting in New York. They apparently saw globalisation as an
imperial attempt to remake the world in the image of Wall
Street.
A Christian response to the challenges of globalisation will
want to focus more on the moral than the supposedly imperial, I
suspect. But it will certainly not shy away from the economic
impact of globalisation. Indeed when the bishops of the worldwide
Anglican Communion met for the 1998 Lambeth Conference, it was
globalisation of the market economy that they identified as
'the greatest single new force shaping the world.'
So what should we make of this new force? Well, we should
certainly be cautious about concluding that globalisation is
irredeemably and fatally flawed. Indeed, it has already brought
many benefits to some of the poorer nations - for example,
through direct foreign investment. Nevertheless, we have to
recognise that rich and poor nations are not competing on a level
playing field. Indeed, the very interconnectedness that
globalisation offers through the liberalisation of trade, the power
of the Internet and free movement of currency may lead to new forms
of fragmentation and exclusion. Poor nations with inadequate
infrastructures and limited educational and health resources are
likely to struggle to compete in sophisticated and rapidly moving
market conditions. That goes some way to explaining why an
estimated one-third of the world's population is so far
reaping no tangible benefit from globalisation.
Globalisation, therefore, cannot wave a supposedly magic wand of
market forces that automatically and equally benefits all. Like any
other human tool or process, it may be used for good or ill. It is
up to us to use it wisely and well.
And that leads me to believe that the Christian imperative to
look first and foremost to the needs of the poor must be a focal
point of the mission of the Church in responding to the changes
that globalisation brings.
In my time as Archbishop I have seen many examples round our
increasingly globalised world of that challenge being met -
examples that should inspire and give hope for the future. Let me
offer you just two examples of the Church in action on behalf of
the most vulnerable.
First, I recall a visit to Brazil where I was shown a huge
rubbish tip in the city of Recife. In that awful environment,
hundreds of destitute people - children as well as adults
- had been living off whatever they could find -
including I was told human remains dumped there from a nearby
hospital. An Anglican priest stirred by the plight of these people
moved her home there and started a small church among the
'rubbish people' as they were called. Over the years
she has helped them reclaim their dignity; she has brought them
education and health care - in fact, during my visit I was
asked to dedicate a dentist's chair! That woman priest has
also helped them to find homes and jobs - indeed some 400
people work in the recycling business that she helped to set
up.
I think too of South Africa where grinding poverty combined with
the frightful scourge of HIV/AIDS is causing such human
devastation. We visited a Church-run orphanage in Durban, caring
for babies and children under five with the AIDS virus. There we
held in our arms lovely looking babies, many of whom had just a few
months to live. It was the only home of its kind in the city.
So the Church will not, so to speak, be done out of a job in its
work amongst the poor by globalisation. But this does not mean that
the Church is simply there to help pick up the pieces.
Which brings me to the second way in which the Church should
respond: the Church should play its part in ensuring the right
checks and balances are brought to bear on globalisation.
I believe we should be working in critical solidarity with the
international institutions tasked with regulating global
capitalism, rather than writing them off as irretrievably serving
the interests of the rich nations. And we know from experience that
we can make a difference. The Jubilee 2000 campaign to cancel
unpayable third world debt, in which the Churches played a crucial
role, demonstrated that clearly.
In this connection, I want to applaud the contribution towards
the needs of poorer nations made by the Chancellor of the
Exchequer, Gordon Brown, and the International Development
Secretary, Clare Short - and their commitment to meeting the
target of halving world poverty by the year 2015. Their
appreciation of the role of the Churches has led to a significant
partnership, which is beginning to bear much fruit for those most
in need.
In the same way, the Churches can and should contribute to the
developing debate about fair trade. And this does not just mean
issues about market conditions; it also points towards dangers
concerning the environment and sustainable development. We will not
really be serving the needs of those we most seek to help if the
resources on which they depend for their livelihood are damaged or
destroyed in the process.
Against that backdrop, let me highlight briefly the World Faiths
Development Dialogue, a body I have helped to set up with the
President of the World Bank, Jim Wolfensohn. WFDD involves no fewer
than nine major religions. It seeks to mobilise and share the huge
potential of faith community networks in helping to create more
secure, stable and sustainable living and working conditions for
communities at risk. It is still a small body - but it does,
I believe, point in a positive direction.
Mention of other faiths leads me naturally to the second
challenge I have identified as important for the mission of the
Church, in the wake of September 11th. That is how different faiths
and faith communities are going to relate to one another in the
years to come.
If you were to believe some of the negative rhetoric of last
September, you would be forced to conclude that, so far as
Christianity and Islam are concerned, the answer is 'with
great difficulty'. But that is not, I am pleased to say, my
answer. I have already acknowledged that the challenge of better
inter-faith relations is a real one - but it is one on which
progress has been made and will continue to be made. Let me explain
how I have approached these issues in my time in office.
If I had been told in 1991, when I became Archbishop of
Canterbury, that inter-faith matters would be a major focus of my
work, I would have been very surprised indeed. But that is
precisely what has happened - and I welcome that trend.
I believe we have witnessed two significant developments:
firstly, the growth of the range and rooted-ness of other
faith-communities in developed countries such as our own; and
secondly and separately, a worrying rise in violent religious
extremism in parts of the world.
I would suggest that the first of these developments can be a very
positive and enriching experience on all sides. Where countries
experience the harmonious integration of ethnic and faith
communities, all may benefit from a discovery of shared values, as
well as the opportunity to explore the treasures of other cultures
and the insights and experiences that they offer.
I have argued consistently that our own society should be
welcoming and supportive towards newcomers of different faiths.
Equally, I have called for a similarly generous attitude to be
shown towards Christian communities wherever they exist as
minorities around the world. Though we have seen advances and I
expect more, there are still too many places where Christians are
not free to practise and share their faith openly or to build
churches and schools.
The second trend, violent extremism in the name of religion,
must be of major concern to us all. It is a phenomenon not
restricted to any one tradition, and there are few signs that it is
diminishing. Certainly some of the ingredients that serve to feed
it - anger, envy and despair - are not in short supply.
This can create a situation in which a message of religious
certainty can mix dangerously with a feeling of exclusion, a sense
of having nothing to lose and the demonising of the West. The
consequences can be devastating.
So how can this extremist challenge be met? Crucially, the
overwhelming majority in all religions who reject this violent
barbarism must redouble our commitment to greater mutual
understanding. This is not a new process, but I think we all
appreciate its urgency.
As Archbishop of Canterbury I am currently engaged in three
distinct initiatives in Muslim-Christian dialogue alone, which in
the long term should make a serious contribution to peaceful and
respectful co-existence.
The first initiative, which has developed with the direct and
personal encouragement of the Prime Minister, led to a significant
international Christian-Muslim dialogue at Lambeth Palace in
January. His support reflects I believe the seriousness with which
politicians are now taking the presence of religious issues in
conflict resolution. The Lambeth seminar was deliberately a
gathering of theologians and scholars of both communities, in the
belief that if one can focus scholarly attention on the roots of
religious extremism, one may be able to challenge 'bad
religion' from within the integrity of one's
faith.
A second initiative involves the Grand Imam of Al-Alzhar Al-Sharif
in Cairo, Dr Tantawi, who is recognised within worldwide Sunni
Islam as the leading authority in religious scholarship. We have
met several times and from this personal encounter, friendship and
serious discussion, a deepening dialogue between Al Alzhar and the
Anglican Communion has evolved.
The third initiative focuses on Muslim-Christian relations in
England. Led by the Bishop of Aston, John Austin, a group of
Christians and Muslims is visiting a number of cities where there
are significant Muslim communities, to hear their thoughts and
those of the churches. The hope is that in time we can create a
national framework for Muslim-Christian dialogue to support and
help co-ordinate the many local initiatives.
It may have struck you that the three examples I have given all
refer to dialogue with Muslims, which has quite properly been the
main focus recently. But in various different ways there are also
opportunities for meeting and dialogue with representatives of the
Jewish, Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist and other communities. And in this
context I want to pay tribute to the tireless contribution of the
Inter Faith Network.
I am aware though that this commitment to dialogue may actually
have an unsettling effect in some quarters. But no one should
suppose it involves any weakening of my allegiance to the Church of
England - nor is it a bland or unthinking pursuit of the
lowest common denominator. As I argued in my Enthronement Sermon
over eleven years ago, commitment to inter-faith dialogue does not
require the loss of our own distinctive identity. Nothing could be
further from the truth.
I believe one may be, as I am, thoroughly committed to bearing
witness to the unique claims of Jesus Christ and yet at ease with
friends and neighbours of different faiths, who hold their beliefs
with the same degree of conviction as I do.
It is my contention that a host faith should offer hospitality
to other faiths. In this way not only will the quality of our
dialogue improve, but through dialogue we shall also be able to do
more for the common good and for the resolution of confrontation
and conflict in areas where religion and politics are
intertwined.
One such setting, of course, is the Holy Land. It is a region in
which religious commitment might be seen to set people apart,
rather than bring them together. But I am convinced it can be a
significant part of the solution to the problems of separation and
misunderstanding. Last autumn I was asked by both Jews and Muslims
to help bring together the religious leadership of the Holy Land.
The aim was to find a way for Muslims, Jews, and Christians to hold
a conversation that might in time contribute towards a political
settlement.
In January, more than twenty religious leaders met in Alexandria
in Egypt, where we heard accounts of violence and destruction,
persecution and fear, exclusion and rejection. Yet there was still
hope, and a desire to co-exist in peace with neighbours. It was
sobering to discover that several of the distinguished Rabbis and
Sheikhs live within ten miles of one another but had never met. To
our joy, and not a little surprise, we were able to conclude an
unprecedented agreement - the First Alexandria Declaration of
the Religious Leaders of the Holy Land.
This agreement pledges all sides to work to end the violence and
bloodshed, and to seek to live together as neighbours, respecting
the integrity of each other's historical and religious
inheritance. The Holy Land, the Declaration reminds us, is Holy to
all three of our faiths.
Since January, the commitment of the participants has been
sorely tested by the spiral of violence and reprisal, and I cannot
pretend that we have stemmed the bloodshed. But in the short term,
the Alexandria process has at least enabled people of influence to
talk and to remain in contact - despite all that continues to
drive them apart.
It is clear that suicide bomb attacks have made Israelis still more
doubtful of the Palestinian commitment to peace. At the same time,
a war of attrition has been waged against the leadership of the
Palestinian Authority - with the terms of engagement
sometimes seeming to have as much to do with revenge as coherent
policy. Yasser Arafat's authority has been challenged, but so
has his ability to control the various radical factions.
While the extreme complexity of the historical realities and the
bitterness of memories make us all cautious of offering solutions,
giving hope to both sides must be central to reconciliation.
Religious leaders have a particular role in the Holy Land to speak
for and to their communities in the name of God, and we share
enough of our inheritance to do this across traditional divides.
Together we can, and must, call people to transcend the hurts of
the past, to break the cycle of human wrongdoing, and to work
together in specific and practical ways.
For Israel there must be firm commitments that its right to
exist in peace and security is fully recognised by all its regional
neighbours. For Palestinians, a moral obligation must be honoured,
ensuring that they are afforded the same right in a Palestinian
state.
There is a long way to go, of course, and the road is made
longer when hope and trust are assailed on all sides. But I am sure
that the Alexandria process has a part to play in the search for
peace in the Middle East.
In more general terms, it also suggests that faith communities
and leaders working together may be able to achieve things that
politicians and diplomats alone cannot. That is an understanding we
need to develop.
My third and final challenge highlighted by September 11th is
secularisation. I said earlier that none of these challenges was
invented by the events of last autumn - and that is
especially the case when it comes to the challenge posed by a
secular understanding of the world. Indeed, it is a challenge that
we have been wrestling with for decades, even centuries. But once
again September 11th gives it new currency. The rhetoric of the
terrorists and their supporters was that the West was corrupt and
decadent - principally as a result of a pervasive
godlessness. The implication was that Christianity has capitulated
to the forces of secularism.
While I would certainly like more people in Britain and the West
to come to life-transforming faith - indeed that challenge
has been and remains central to my life's work - I take
issue with some of the assumptions underlying this crude caricature
of our twenty-first century society and culture.
For example, I am uneasy when diminishing Sunday Church
attendance is offered as proof of the so-called triumph of
secularism in this country. The Church of England certainly has
less people attending Sunday worship than fifty years ago, but in
my experience its contribution to the nation and the life of our
communities - be it in education or in support of the needy,
the marginalised and the rejected in our society - is no less
committed, no less effective and no less appreciated. The work of
organisations like the Church Urban Fund over the last decade or so
is just one example of this.
In her recently-published book, Europe: The Exceptional Case,
Grace Davie makes it clear that we must be careful not to use the
term 'secular' too glibly or simplistically. She
concedes that clear religious institutional allegiance has declined
in Western Europe. Yet she finds little evidence that faith itself
has fallen away significantly, only that people now believe without
belonging. Although many Europeans have ceased to connect with
religious institutions in any active sense, they have not abandoned
either their deep-seated religious aspirations or, in many cases, a
latent sense of religious identification.
What has happened in Western Europe, she argues, is that
voluntary organisations of all kinds have waned in influence and
popularity. For example, allegiance to secular institutions like
political parties and trade unions, she asserts, has diminished
more dramatically than allegiance to the Churches.
So where does that understanding of the forces of secularisation
leave the mission of the church? Let me suggest a few
implications.
First, we Christians in the West must not lose our nerve. During
my time in office, I have become more convinced than ever of the
durability of the Christian faith and its deep relevance to life
today. To give just one example from this country, I recall an
amazing youth event, 'The Time of Our Lives', which
brought over 4000 young people between the ages of sixteen and
twenty-three to Lambeth Palace several years ago. I saw the joy in
those young people and their enthusiasm for a Gospel that so
clearly was important and fruitful in their lives.
But as Christians we must find new ways of connecting with those
outside the structures of the Church. We can no longer expect
people automatically to come to church of their own accord.
Churches can and do grow, but we can no longer depend upon family
loyalty, custom or tradition to provide the links that will lead
young people to church. If we in the Church of England and other
churches want to bring new generations to active Christian witness,
we must use all the resources of faith, human ingenuity and
pastoral care to reach out in love to those for whom Christ died.
To use the jargon, we need to discover new ways of being church,
while remaining faithful to the Gospel. The
'Springboard' initiative, which I have been pleased to
sponsor, has done important and encouraging work in this field with
parish clergy and lay people.
At the same time, we need to work harder still to bring churches
closer together in the service of the Gospel. I believe relations
between different denominations in this country are excellent
- the Covenant, signed by Church leaders at Windsor in the
presence of Her Majesty the Queen at the beginning of the month,
reflects that fact. However, we still have a long way to go if we
wish to find that unity which we know is God's will for us.
If, in Western Europe, fewer people identify formally with Church
institutions, this surely strengthens both the case for and the
potential for greater co-operation between denominations.
Later this week, I shall be travelling to Rome for a final
meeting as Archbishop with the Pope. It will be an opportunity for
us to take stock of the progress that has been made in
understanding between Roman Catholics and Anglicans in recent
years.
Elsewhere, in my time as Archbishop, we have developed
agreements with Protestant Churches in Scandinavia, Germany and
France. It is clear that with increasing European integration,
European churches need to find new ways of working together in
common mission - and those of us on this side of the Channel
must surely play our part in this.
Christendom and Europe may no longer be synonymous, but the
Christian heritage of our continent is precious - it is the
bedrock of the values and aspirations that have helped to shape our
past and can best direct our future.
But Christianity, as I hope this address has illustrated, is
also a flourishing global religion - in every corner of the
modern world, people of all ages and all backgrounds continue to be
inspired by the example and teachings of Jesus Christ and to answer
His call.
They certainly did so in New York in the immediate aftermath of
the September 11th.
A short distance from where the Twin Towers once dominated the
Manhattan skyline stands St Paul's Chapel. It is one of the
oldest churches in New York; George Washington used to worship
there over two hundred years ago. Although the chapel was covered
in a dense pall of dust and smoke on September 11th, it escaped the
devastation virtually unscathed. Its remarkable survival has made
it a special place of pilgrimage, and the railings in front of the
chapel have been decked with messages and tokens by those who have
come to 'Ground Zero' in recent months in their tens of
thousands to mourn and to remember.
It has also served as a centre for fire fighters and emergency
teams, with volunteers providing meals round the clock and a
rudimentary place to rest on sleeping bags or on camp beds. It has
been above all a place of support and sanctuary, a tangible sign of
God's presence when 'tower and temple fall to
dust.'
As the witness and example of St Paul's Chapel in New York
reminds us so powerfully, the Church must continue to strive to
live out its mission as a 'city set on a hill'. It has
to remind us that no amount of change, no matter how frightening or
painful it may be, can separate us from the love of God. For, it
also points us towards that heavenly city, where the skyline will
be eternal and indestructible. In the words of the hymn:
City of God, how broad and far
Outspread thy walls sublime...
In vain the surge's angry shock,
In vain the drifting sands;
Unharmed upon the eternal Rock
The eternal city stands