In my journal from this period I wrote: ‘It’s an awful cancer. I know at the level of my mind that this is all about baubles; that serving Christ is the most important thing. That being faithful, obedient and ready is all He requires. But deep within there is a demon which loves power and authority, and he will be disappointed if nothing comes.’ A realisation dawned that I needed to rededicate myself to the work of Trinity College. And in prayer I dedicated myself to God’s work rather than my own concerns. I found this liberating, as though a weight had been lifted from me.
Two days later, on 23 June 1987, an envelope dropped through our letterbox from Number 10 Downing Street. The letter, signed by the Prime Minister Mrs Thatcher, simply said that the Crown Appointments Commission had put my name forward, and that she hoped I would accept this offer. After careful thought and prayer I did, and was consecrated Bishop of Bath and Wells on 3 December 1987.
‘What the average Englishman wanted was a Church which would respond to his needs, teaches a message which he could understand, and lift him to a higher level of life – but, this, somehow, was just what he never got.’
Ronald Jasper, A.C. Headlam (1960)
THE MOVE TO WELLS WAS NOT without its sadness. We had enjoyed our time in Bristol greatly, living for the first time in our married life not in a college community or a house tied to a church, but in a normal street. And so much had been achieved at the college. With the co-operation of the faculty and council the college was now united, phase one of an exciting building programme was complete, and Trinity was full and attracting ordinands from throughout the Church of England.
True, an intriguing future beckoned, although aspects of it terrified me. Not the actual work, because I was comfortable with a leadership role and the speaking and teaching that went with it. But I was ignorant of the secondary aspects of being a Bishop – what one had to wear, what the expectations were, and what were the different responsibilities in a diocesan team.
Of course there were people I could rely on for advice and information. The suffragan Bishop of Taunton, Nigel McCulloch, a young and very popular Bishop, offered his assistance readily, as did David Hope, the Bishop of Wakefield, later to become Bishop of London and then Archbishop of York. Both were from the Catholic wing of the Church, and were on hand to show this evangelical what to wear and when to wear it. Not that copes, mitres and chasubles bothered me much. Although I preferred to dress simply, my attitude was that if this was what the Church wanted me to wear, then I was quite prepared to don the unfamiliar for the dignity of the office.
First I had to be ordained for this ministry, and a date was fixed for 3 December 1987 at Southwark Cathedral. Up to that point I had not met Robert Runcie, the 102nd Archbishop of Canterbury. From a distance Robert seemed a reserved and lofty figure. He had the reputation in evangelical circles of being wobbly and indecisive on doctrinal and ethical issues, and the only contact I had had with Lambeth Palace as a Principal was distinctly unpromising. An able ordinand had resigned over the statements of David Jenkins, the then Bishop of Durham. As a result I had written to the Archbishop expressing my concern that a Bishop of the Church should express his doubts so freely about the resurrection of Christ. I received what was obviously a standard letter, signed by a staff member, to the effect that David Jenkins’s views did not state the mind of the Church. I was not impressed.
I met Robert for the first time on the evening before my consecration. The convention is for the family of the new Bishop to stay overnight with the Archbishop. Our large family was delighted and excited to accept this kind invitation, and it turned out to be a wonderful occasion. Before dinner Robert and I had a thirty-minute conversation, and my opinion of him changed as we spoke together. I could not fail to notice his evident spirituality, his wry sense of humour and his distinct love of people. But he seemed terribly tired and preoccupied.
The reason for this became apparent during dinner. I was sitting next to Lindy Runcie, whose direct and candid observations on every subject made her an entertaining companion. Looking across at Robert, she suddenly exploded and said, ‘Poor Robert is under such pressure. That wretched man!’ As the adjective was clearly not aimed at her husband, I asked her what she meant. Out poured a great deal of vitriol directed at Dr Gary Bennett, then Chaplain of New College, Oxford, and a leading Anglo-Catholic theologian, who she believed was the author of the Preface to the new edition of Crockford’s Clerical Directory, which by tradition was written anonymously by a prominent cleric. The Preface was critical of Robert’s liberalism, and accused him of packing the House of Bishops full of his cronies. As I was hardly one of these I could barely contain my mirth, but Robert and Lindy were obviously most distressed. This was my first encounter with the demands of the Archbishop’s office and the way criticism could work its way under one’s skin, causing real emotional pain.
The service in Southwark Cathedral the following day lived up to my expectations. Robert led it very well, and Canon Roy Henderson, Chairman of Trinity Council, gave an inspiring address. I had asked the cathedral if the college music group could lead some devotional songs during the offering of communion, and they did so very beautifully indeed.
The press were out in force after the consecration to cover what seemed to be a developing civil war in the Church. Robert was besieged by photographers and cameramen, and journalists clamoured for him to give his view of the damaging Preface, and to offer an opinion about the identity of the author. Of course he declined because it was not the time or place to comment upon such a matter.
If the Preface did originate from Gary Bennett, it was unworthy of a writer of such distinction. As it happened I knew him well, and liked him, although we had clashed ideologically as fellow members of a Commission which had been brought together to examine the theology of the Episcopate, and the Preface’s style was certainly similar to his. It was a commonly held view that Gary was ambitious to be a Bishop, and very bitter towards the two Archbishops, who he felt were blocking his chance of higher office. The story was to end tragically a week later, when Gary committed suicide after having been exposed as the author of the Preface on the front page of the Sun newspaper.
Looking back on that episode, which brought such shame on the Church of England, I doubt very much if there ever was a liberal conspiracy. The Crown Appointments system does not operate like that. Archbishops have considerable but not final influence in deciding which names are put forward for appointment. The truth was possibly more mundane – that the Anglo-Catholic tradition had declined from greatness to a less pivotal position in the Church. Was it any longer able to provide men with the ability and vision needed to lead churches into mission and life? In my judgement it now appeared to be obsessed with issues which were of secondary importance to most members of the Church, such as the ordination of women. It was a tradition in crisis.
What kind of Bishop did I want to be? This question was very much in my mind from the moment the offer had come from the Crown. I spent many hours considering it and praying over it, and two conclusions emerged.
First, all I could offer was myself in all my humanity. I was overcome by the thought of being a Bishop and there was every reason for trepidation. Few people from my kind of background ever came this close to senior office in the Church. With genuine humility I could only offer my unworthiness and weakness, and ask that this sacrifice of love might be pleasing in God’s sight. The day before my consecration as Bishop I had read 2 Chronicles 1, and had written in my private diary the following words: ‘Reading from 2 Chron. 1 this morning the words leapt out: God said “Ask what I shall give you?” Solomon replied: “Wisdom and knowledge to go out and to come in before thy people.” How relevant! I feel I need this too but combined with an unflinching faith in the power of the Gospel and an undying love of God. Only if I truly love Him will I love others.’
Second, I believed I was called to be a Bishop-in-mission. As I considered what was expected of me, I felt dissatisfied with the traditional role of being a Bishop, just as the traditional role of being a clergyman had not satisfied me in Durham. It was assumed that I would pastor clergy, confirm and