This article was first published in Inside the Vatican
Catholics and Anglicans
By Dwight Longenecker
When Archbishop
Geoffrey Fisher returned from his historic visit to Pope John XXIII
in 1960 he reported that the Holy Father
asked him when the Anglicans would come back to the Catholic
Church. Fisher replied: ’We cannot come back but we can go forward
together.’ At the time this revelation stunned and excited both
Anglicans and Catholics. It appeared to mark one the most hopeful
moments in the 424 bitter years since Henry VIII broke with Rome
and changed the ‘Church in England’ into ‘the Church of England’
On reflection the
comment raises more questions than it answers about the one Church
that existed before the schism,
and about the Churches that might be going ‘forward together’. If
there is no going back to the oneness of the Church before 1534,
in what sense will the Churches be one in the new togetherness?
A glance at the
early Church in Britain, and a more detailed look at some of the
various manoeuvrings toward going ‘forward
together’ can give us a somewhat better understanding of the
difficulties involved.
Previous Centuries
Though the precise
origins of Christianity in the British Isles are difficult to pin
down, it is certain that Christianity
found root in Britain sometime during the Roman occupation (AD
43-400). When the legions were ordered back to Rome, they left
a thriving faith among the native Celts. By 450, however, the
pagan Saxons occupied England and drove the Christian Celts into
Wales, Ireland and Brittany. This setback was partially rectified
by Irish missionaries who soon began to re-build the faith among
the British, moving down from Scotland into Northern England.
In 597 Pope Gregory the Great sent the monk Augustine
to Canterbury and the evangelization of the Saxon tribes rapidly
accelerated. The most serious test for the early British Church
concerned the different monastic traditions and the contrasting
Celtic and Roman dates for Easter. This was settled at the Synod
of Whitby in 664, when King Oswy decided to follow Peter and
adopted the Roman rule. By 885, when Pope Marinus sent a relic
of the true Cross to King Alfred, the Church in England was firmly
established and on its way to becoming one of the strongest and
most faithful national churches in Europe.
The English kings
were loyal Catholics and ironically, Henry VIII in the early years
of his rule (1509-47) had the reputation
of being a zealous supporter of papal orthodoxy. So important
was his championing of Catholicism over Protestantism that Pope
Leo X bestowed on him the title of Defensor Fidei (Defender of
the Faith). But when the Pope refused to recognise Henry’s divorce
the English king made himself head of the Church of England and
required every bishop in the country to renounce the authority
of the Pope. The state control of the Church begun by Henry was
expanded and institutionalised by his daughter Elizabeth I (1558-1603). All
connections with the papacy were severed, faithful English Catholics
were barred from positions of influence and power, persecuted,
and forced underground.
Despite these grim,
largely successful attempts to extirpate Catholicism from English
soil, the hope for some kind
of accommodation with Rome persisted, even among those occupying
the throne following Elizabeth’s death. James I (1603-25), son
of the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots, was brought up by Scottish
Presbyterians. Nevertheless, he acknowledged ‘the Roman church
to be our mother church, although defiled with some infirmities
and corruptions...I would with all my heart consent that the
Bishop of Rome should have the first seat.’ The Stuart King Charles
I (1625-49), whose queen was a Catholic, was very sympathetic
to the Catholic cause. His son, Charles II (1660-85), secretly
favored the old faith, and on his deathbed was received into
the Catholic Church. His brother, James II (1685-88) was actually
a Catholic. A monument to these ill-fated Stuart monarchs of
England can be found in the North aisle of St Peter’s.
The English monarchs
were not the only ones who wanted to ‘come home to Rome.’ In The Stripping of the Altars historian
Eamon Duffy shows how the new Protestant religion had to be imposed
on the people by force. The longings for reunion with Rome were
powerless against the anti-Catholicism of the nation’s ruling
Puritan reformers. Charles was beheaded, his son had to remain
Protestant to keep his throne, and James II was driven from the
throne in the ‘Glorious Revolution.’ As a result, England became
ever more intensely a Protestant country, despite occasional
expressions of interest in union with Peter’s Chair, even by
archbishops of Canterbury.
In the eighteenth century a remarkable correspondence
developed between Canterbury’s William Wake and French Catholic
bishops, but England was far too anti-Papist for Wake’s overture
to succeed. In the 19th Century John Henry Newman’s conversion
brought scores of Anglicans into the Church, and for a time rekindled
the dream of unity. An Anglican layman, Lord Halifax, hoping
for a positive response, pressured for Rome to decide on the
validity of Anglican orders but when Pope Leo XIII issued his
motu proprio (Apostolicae Curae) in 1896 which declared Anglican
orders invalid the prospects for reconciliation dimmed.
This
Twentieth Century
About twenty years
later Pope Benedict XV made a key move toward better relations. In 1915 he established a British
Legation to the Vatican, headed by an Anglican layman, with a
Catholic second in command. This was the first institutional
contact with England for centuries and laid down the foundation
for later developments.
Not daunted by
Leo XIII’s negative appraisal, the elderly
Lord Halifax went to Malines, Belgium, between 1922 and 1926
to talk with Catholics about reunion. Both Archbishop of Canterbury
Randall Davidson and Popes Benedict XV and Pius XI (elected 1921)
were informed of these ‘Malines Conversations’ and encouraged
them. The dialogue progressed to the point where proposals were
drafted for a formal council to consider reunion between Anglicanism
and Catholicism. At that point, however, Archbishop Davidson
got cold feet. English Catholics also were disturbed. Anglicans,
they felt, always found it easier to talk to French and Belgian
Catholics than to Catholics in their own country. Memories of
mutual persecution were too long. The promise offered at Malines
collapsed in 1925, after briefly stirring the centuries-old hope
for a reconciliation between Rome and Canterbury.
During the 30s
and 40s the Second World War presented far more pressing concerns
for all of Europe, but in the latter
years of Pius XII’s reign movement towards unity started again. Liturgical
experts and bishops on both sides began to talk with one another. They
instituted the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity still observed
every year. In 1955 Anglican Bishop George Bell of Chichester
visited Mgr. Montini--Archbishop of Milan. In 1956 Montini,
later to be elected Pope Paul VI, received a delegation of four
Anglican priests and a layman who stayed with him for ten days. This
was an informal meeting, with Montini doing most of the listening. His
English was good, and the delegation thought him not only urbane
and educated, but genuinely interested in England and Anglicanism.
An ecumenical spirit
filled the air in 1958 with the election of John XXIII, who set
up the Secretariat for the Promotion
of Unity among Christians in 1960. Anglicans were the first
to respond positively. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Geoffrey
Fisher, decided to visit the Pope. A rambunctious man in frock
coat and gaiters, he was the churchman who crowned Queen Elizabeth
II.
Forward
from John XXIII
On 22 November
1960 Fisher, with his senior chaplain, Frederick Temple, and John
Satterwaite, Secretary of the newly
formed Church of England Council of Foreign Relations, went on
an historic journey. At Jerusalem the Archbishop visited the
Anglican cathedral and the holy sites, then continued on to Constantinople
to meet the Orthodox patriarch. Fisher had informed the Vatican
that on the way back from the Middle East he planned to call
on the Pope himself. It would be the first visit of an Archbishop
of Canterbury to the Pope since Thomas Arundel’s visit in 1397.
John XXIII’s Secretary of State, Cardinal Tardini,
was unhappy with the proposed visit. He blacked out the media
and tried to portray Archbishop Fisher’s historic visit as a
private call. When Fisher landed in Rome he defied the ban on
publicity, announcing to the press on arrival that he was indeed
visiting as the Archbishop of Canterbury. The next day he gave
a speech emphasizing that while the Church of England had a debt
to Rome, the Christian Church must keep diversity within an informal
unity. Though Fisher wanted to issue a joint statement, Cardinal
Tardini refused. Fisher went ahead and wrote an Anglican statement
instead.
So far the Anglicans
had done all the running. By
10:30 a.m. on 2 December, Sir William Scarlett, the Queen’s diplomatic
representative, still hadn't won co-operation from the Vatican
and Archbishop Fisher threatened to leave without seeing the
Pope. Despite the problems, the redoubtable Fisher, clad in
purple cassock and Canterbury cap, set out for the Vatican that
morning. Only then did he and his party realize that they were
being given special honors. The Swiss Guard was arrayed in full
dress uniform, the red carpets were out, and he was received
ceremoniously by the Chamberlain of Sword and Cape, who a fortnight
earlier had welcomed the British Prime Minister.
Archbishop Fisher
was alone with the Pope for almost an hour. They spoke of the relations
of all the churches, the
Pope grouped the Anglicans with other Protestants and the Archbishop
suggested there was a difference. The Pope accepted special status
for Anglicanism and said how delighted he was, as successor of
Gregory the Great, to be meeting with the successor of Augustine
of Canterbury. In his meditations he thought of the two disciples
on the road to Emmaus. At the end the gentle Pope asked the
Archbishop when the Anglicans would come back, and Fisher made
his now famous reply--that it was impossible to go back; instead ‘we
must go forward together.’
Secretary of State
Tardini still had his impact. There were no photographs to record
the historic occasion and the Vatican
newspaper Osservatore Romano gave the visit one condescending
line: ‘Dr. Geoffrey Fisher had an audience with His Holiness.’ However,
Pope John had insisted that Fisher should meet with Cardinal
Bea--the new head of the Secretariat for Christian Unity. This
meant an official channel of communication now existed, and Anglicans
would eventually be invited as observers at the Second Vatican
Council.
In 1963 John XXIII
summed up the mood in the Church in his moto proprio, Superno De
Nutu: ‘A new hope arises that
those who rejoice in the name of Christians, but are nevertheless
separated from this apostolic see, hearing the voice of the divine
Shepherd, may be able to make their way into the one Church of
Christ….to seek and to follow that unity which Jesus Christ implored
from his Heavenly father with such fervent prayers.’
Archbishop Fisher
was succeeded by a bishop who had been one of his students at secondary
school many years before. Michael
Ramsay had served in parish ministry and academia before becoming
Bishop of Durham, then Archbishop of York, and finally Archbishop
of Canterbury in 1961.
The Church of England
has a tradition of letting Anglo-Catholic bishops take turns with
low church bishops at Canterbury. Thus the high
church Ramsay followed the Protestant Fisher. Yet Ramsay was
less favorable towards Rome than Fisher had been. Fisher was
a cheery optimist, Ramsay had no such enthusiasm. He disliked
the Roman Church’s exclusiveness, her strict rules on remarriage
and her insistence that converts had to be conditionally re-baptised. Furthermore,
for a high churchman, a visit to Rome would be more risky. Protestant
Anglicans would suspect ‘Roman Fever’ in him which they would
never have suspected in the robustly low-church Fisher.
Two years after
Ramsay went to Canterbury, Cardinal Montini became Pope Paul VI. Because of his visits with Bishop
George Bell, Montini knew far more about Anglicanism than John
XXIII. Vatican II had recognized a special place for Anglicanism
and was open and encouraging to Anglicans. With Paul VI the
question was not so much would Michael Ramsay visit the Vatican,
but when.
The visit was set
for the spring of 1966. On the eve
of departure in England, Protestants marched. Ulster fundamentalist, Ian
Paisley and a gang of Protestant thugs booked seats on Ramsay’s
plane and tried to invade the Archbishop’s special quarters. At
the airport the Italians put Archbishop Ramsay into a Mercedes
which swept away to Rome while they didn't allow Paisley out
of the airport. Not to be daunted, Paisley and his crew got
the publicity they craved by opening their jackets to reveal
vests that said, ‘Ramsay a traitor to Protestant Britain.’
This time the Archbishop
of Canterbury’s visit was
official; he stayed as the Pope’s guest at the English College. Students
crowded around the avuncular Archbishop with a warm welcome and
offered the captain of their rugby team as a bodyguard against
any further trouble from Paisley. The College of Cardinals gave
Ramsay a reception in the Borgia Apartments. His appearance
was described later: ‘He stood framed in the doorway in Anglican
choir dress, buckled shoes, scarlet chimere, lawn rochet, velvet
Canterbury cap and on his breast the jewelled crucifix given
him by Patriarch Alexie. There was a gasp at his eccentric splendor
and he was led to a chair on a dais to receive the members of
the curia.’
On the morning
of 23 March 1966 Ramsay met the Pope in the Sistine chapel. Paul described the bridge they were building
as still rickety: ‘As you cross the threshold we want you especially
to feel that you are not entering the house of a stranger but
that this is your home, here you have a right to be.’ In their
conversation they talked of spirituality and the opportunity
to have common forms of prayer. Paul VI suggested the setting
up of a joint commission of theologians to look at theological
problems. Ramsay asked about the validity of Anglican orders. Paul
said he was willing to reopen the subject. Ramsay's personality
and appearance was a genuine sensation.
The next day the
Pope and Archbishop, at St. Paul’s Without the
Walls, read a common
declaration and said the blessing together. The
two leaders then exited side by side. As a surprise gesture,
the pope took off his episcopal ring of emeralds and diamonds--given
to him when he was Archbishop of Milan, and gave it to Ramsay
who put it on. Ramsay, who appeared genuinely surprised and
close to tears, captured Rome’s heart. When Paul VI died in
1978, Ramsay, now retired, went to the funeral in a private capacity,
with no VIP status. But Vatican officials recognized him and
gave him the highest seat. He was seen to be wearing the famous
episcopal ring.
In July 1975 a
new Archbishop of Canterbury, the evangelical
Donald Coggan, led the Church of England’s General Synod into
a historic decision. They decided that, ‘there are no fundamental
objections to women's ordination.’ With breath-taking audacity
they voted to inform the Catholics and Orthodox of their decision
and ‘to invite those authorities to share in an urgent re-examination
of the theological grounds for including women in the order of
Priesthood.’ They made only a token gesture to consult with Rome
or the Orthodox on the issue. The Archbishop of Canterbury’s
Secretary for Foreign Relations had gone to Rome to talk with
Cardinal Willebrands--president of the Secretariat for Promoting
Christian Unity. Rome was diplomatically negative. The Orthodox
were negative without being diplomatic.
Despite the women’s ordination problem, the new ecumenism
demanded that Archbishop Coggan pay a visit to the Pope. The
visit was arranged for the spring of 1977. By this time, at
age 79, Pope Paul was too ill for a long formal visit. Nevertheless,
there was to be one public occasion with the Pope, a joint declaration
and a private meeting with His Holiness. Like Ramsay before him,
Coggan stayed at the English College where the rector was a young
Cormac Murphy O'Connor (now the Archbishop of Westminster).
In their private
conversation Pope Paul quoted from the Malines Conversations about
the possibility of an Anglican
church that was ‘united not absorbed.’ Knowing Coggan’s preference
for Evangelical action, the Pope ended by stressing evangelism, ‘You
yourselves, brethren, are concerned that the gospel should be
translated into deeds, and renew its significance for a society
of Christian tradition. As Pius XI put it, “The church civilizes
by evangelizing” . . . it is equally our inspiration.’
It is sometimes
said that Anglican Evangelicals do not so much disagree with Catholicism
as that they do not really
understand it. Despite his warm welcome, that afternoon at a
service at the American Episcopal Church of St. Paul, Archbishop
Coggan controversially called for inter-communion between Anglicans
and Catholics. The reaction was harsh. Margaret Pawley, the
wife of Bernard Pawley, a long-time Anglican observer at the
Vatican, says Coggan was unprepared for the degree of shock that
followed. This un-preparedness indicates that Coggan didn’t
actually understand the principles behind the Catholic discipline
of closed communion, and that his gaffe was more out of naiveté than
an intention to offend.
A few months after
his appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury in 1980, Robert Runcie
bumped into the recently elected
Pope John Paul II in Accra. Both church leaders were visiting
Africa when Runcie’s assistants realised they would be in Accra
at the same time as the Papal entourage. An informal meeting
was hastily arranged at which Runcie informally invited the Pope
to Britain. In Robert Runcie the Church of England was once
more led by a churchman of the Anglo-Catholic wing. Runcie was
an urbane and subtle Archbishop, managing to hold together an
ever diffuse communion with a combination of wit, diplomacy,
croney-ism and a large measure of shrewd fence-sitting.
Runcie met with
the Pope a total of five times during his tenure at Canterbury. By far the most momentous event during
this time was Pope John Paul II’s historic visit to Britain in
1982. The whole visit was a triumphant success, but the crowning
moment was the Pope’s arrival in Canterbury cathedral. The crowded
medieval cathedral erupted into spontaneous applause as Pope
John Paul II, dressed in his simple white soutane, processed
up the aisle with Runcie. In his 45 minute sermon John Paul
said, ‘May the dialogue we have already begun lead us to the
day of full restoration of unity in faith and love.’ During
the service there was a celebration of the peace of Christ. After
embracing Runcie, the Pope recognised retired Archbishops Coggan
and Ramsay and came over to give Ramsay a huge bear hug. The
crowd roared their approval. As part of the historic service
the Pope and Runcie signed a joint declaration, and prayed at
the site of Thomas a Becket's martyrdom.
Runcie’s relationship with the Vatican was an important
one. Like his more Catholic predecessor Ramsay, he understood
Catholicism and therefore understood the strains and the possibilities
of ecumenism. As a sign of continuity with Ramsay, Runcie wore
the episcopal ring which Paul VI had given Ramsay, and which
Ramsay’s widow had passed on to Runcie.
In his most important formal visit to the Vatican in 1989 Runcie had
four meetings with the Pope in five days. He also held high
level meetings with Cardinal Willebrands, head of the Secretariat
for the Promotion of Christian Unity, and with Cardinal Ratzinger. As
part of his visit Runcie accomplished another first on the ecumenical
scene. He attended a papal mass, during which he shared the
formal kiss of peace with the Pope.
In their conversations
they spoke of the need for collegiality in the government of the Church. The Pope punned, ‘Our affective
collegiality will lead to effective collegiality.’ For his part,
Runcie made an important concession and called both Rome and
all other Christians to take a brave step forward. He said, ‘Could
not all Christians come to re-consider the kind of Primacy the
Bishop of Rome exercised within the early church, a “presiding
in love” for the sake of the unity of the churches in the diversity
of their mission?’ It is significant that Pope John Paul, in
his encyclical Ut Unum Sint six years later would ask other Christians
to ‘leave behind useless controversies’ and come together to
consider afresh how the ministry of Peter could be exercised
as a ministry of service and love for the sake of the unity of
the whole church.
True to form, Runcie
the Anglo-Catholic was followed by an Evangelical. Unlike his recent predecessors George Carey
didn’t rise through the exclusive background of private education
followed by Oxford or Cambridge, but through minor educational
establishments. He had only been a bishop for a short time before
he was thrust into the limelight when chosen by Prime Minister
Margaret Thatcher. Many feel that Carey was appointed in a political
move: that Thatcher deliberately chose the under experienced
Carey to snub the other name on the list--the establishment liberal
Archbishop of York, John Habgood.
Carey immediately
committed a huge gaffe. In an interview
the Archbishop-elect declared that anyone who didn’t agree with
women’s ordination was a heretic. A few years later he caused
another storm by demanding inter-communion in a speech in a Belgian
Catholic Church. Like the Evangelical Coggan before him, it
is not so much that Carey disagrees with the Catholic position,
but that he doesn’t seem to understand it.
A good example
of his incomprehension is the 1992 women’s ordination
crisis. Carey led the Church of England General Synod into the
decision to ordain women priests despite the fact that both the
Pope and the Patriarch of Constantinople wrote an open letter
virtually pleading with the Anglicans not to take such a step
because of the huge obstacle it would present in the search for
unity. Carey could only have encouraged the Church of England
to continue in its path because he took the view that the Anglican
Church was Protestant and could do what it liked in their own
territory with no recourse to the wider church.
Despite the grave
obstacle which now exists, Archbishop Carey has met with Pope John
Paul II a total of nine times. The
most recent was his visit to pray for Christian unity with the
Pope at St. Paul’s without the Walls in February 2000. Carey’s
second and most important visit to the Vatican was in December
1996. This visit marked the thirtieth anniversary of ARCIC’s
(Anglican Roman Catholic International Commission) foundation
by Ramsay and Paul VI. Archbishop Carey and the Pope met twice,
exchanged greetings and after a joint service at the church of
San Gregorio, signed a joint statement which acknowledged the
progress being made, as well as the new obstacles to unity which
women’s ordination had provided.
George Carey presides
over an increasingly troubled church. Anglicans world-wide are
still bitterly divided over
women priests and bishops. Added to their problems are the traditional
divisions between Protestant, Anglo-Catholic and liberal opinions
in the church. Other modern pressures threaten to divide the
church permanently. The homosexual lobby is pushing for acceptance,
while others debate over divorce and remarriage, feminism and
heretical bishops. In England the Anglican church suffers from
being an established church in an increasingly secular culture
while abroad third-world Anglicans are realizing their superior
numbers and are flexing their muscles in ever greater conflicts
with the British and American churches.
Archbishop Carey
is due to retire in two years. When
he goes it will be the turn of the Anglo-Catholics again. Two
of the top bishops in the Church of England, David Hope of York
and Richard Chartres of London, are Anglo-Catholics who have
refused to ordain women. It seems inconceivable that the next
Archbishop of Canterbury will be opposed to women’s ordination,
but there is a remote chance that Hope or Chartres will get the
job. Would a Catholic-minded Archbishop of Canterbury and a
new Pope be able somehow to overcome the difficulty created by
the ordination of women? The answer to that question will be
the answer to the question John Paul II posed in part III of
Ut Unum Sint: ‘Quanta Est Nobis Via? ‘How much further must we
travel until that blessed day when full unity of faith will be
attained and we can celebrate together in peace the Holy Eucharist
of the Lord?’
