Regardless of whether Sarah Mullally was our preferred choice for the new Archbishop of Canterbury, we should wish her well in her appointment. I hesitate to say ‘congratulate’, as this role is not a career prize but a demanding ministry of service. An archbishop should emulate Christ, who came not to be served but to serve. It is hard to live this way, especially under media scrutiny, doing a job so busy.
In a few months, Canterbury will enthrone its new successor to Saint Augustine. I have mixed feelings about these inauguration and enthronement services. I love the Anglican pomp and circumstance but cringe when a new bishop or archbishop receives applause, or worse, punches the air as if they’ve scaled a career ladder or shattered a glass ceiling. If I could, I’d solemnly process up the aisle and hand them a handkerchief with words of pity: ‘You poor soul.’
Who would want to be Archbishop of Canterbury? In the appointment of Sarah Mullally we can be assured that this is a considerate thoughtful person, someone retains the bedside manner of her first vocation, and is not pushy. Lord, save us from egotists. Like the cardinal who secures the ballots at a conclave, there should be a solemn moment of trembling before the Almighty in a chapel of tears. Spare a thought for their family, too.
The role of Archbishop of Canterbury has evolved into a near-impossible position, laden with inhumane expectations and few levers of influence. Our new spiritual leader faces a hellish in-tray, and I pity the burden thrust upon them. Can any of us imagine the toll on their health from reading a daily safeguarding file of clerical abuse? Then, after digesting that, they’re whisked off to open a church hall, expected to sound cheerful. The previous archbishop relied on antidepressants, and his predecessor escaped to academia. Both emerged with baggier eyes.
A few years ago, a clergy friend in senior circles gave me insight into this grim world, describing bishops during the lockdowns who were at their wits’ end – psychologically exhausted, some spiritually dry. A mix of isolation and endless Zoom calls hollowed out many of these souls. I partly blame an episcopal culture of managerialism, which prioritises administration over spiritual resilience, leaving some to crumble when crises such as Covid hit.
Discussions around senior clerical posts are often tainted by an unpalatable worldliness that should unsettle us. I hope Mullally can fix this. I’ve heard clergy recommend theological colleges to ordinands not for their teaching or spirituality, but for their ability to open doors to prestigious church jobs. ‘Oh yes, students from there often land a great curacy and a plum first incumbency.’The Church Times bears some blame, with its jobs pages fostering the sense that certain incumbencies or cathedral appointments are glittering prizes.
Return to basics, starting with prayer
I also hope that the new archbishop can restore vitality to our church. In the past, the Established Church’s great gift to Christendom was its ability to model collaboration across differences, generating tremendous energy despite the occasional spark. No longer. Gone are the lively theological debates in clergy teams, deaneries and chapters. I miss them. They kept us grounded. Now, priests too often retreat into ideological enclaves or, worse, cyberspace.
Mostly I long for the new Primate of All England to dismantle this careerist, corporatist, managerial culture. Burn it down. Return to basics, starting with prayer. Tell us, Your Grace, that prayer is the job – not a bug, but the main feature of ministry. Do this not just for us clergy but for yourself. Prioritise the inner life. We need an archbishop with a light touch, who can speak to the soul and understand our torments. Forget commenting on every socio-political issue: no one is listening. Do what’s hard: talk about God. An archbishop whose presence is a balm and who can beguile us with God might just turn heads and heal hearts.
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