Uncannily prescient Harry Reid
Writing in 2002, in a book entitled ‘Outside Verdict: An Old Kirk in a New Scotland’, Harry Reid (a former editor of the Herald) commented: ‘I’m sure that most secular observers would think that a modern and mature church should be able to accommodate frankly homosexual clergy without too much difficulty; but, when you have a significant minority of ministers in the Kirk believing that their concerns about such matters are not being taken seriously, then you are, at best, creating a debilitating sense of discontent and, at worst, sowing the seeds of secession’. These words are beginning to seem uncannily prescient.
The decision by the minister and congregation of Gilcomston South Church in Aberdeen to leave the Church of Scotland over the issue of the ordination of gay clergy follows a similar move last year by St George’s Tron in Glasgow. Unlike the earlier case, the Gilcomston breakaway appears to have been carried out without public rancour. The minister, the Reverend Dominic Smart, has been quoted as saying: ‘Our decision was the culmination of careful study, sincere discussion and prayer over the past four years. We have weighed up many different options and we believe the decision we have reached has most integrity’.
A spokesman for the Aberdeen Presbytery expressed regret at the outcome but said that the Church of Scotland was ‘thankful for the way both the minister and congregation of Gilcomston South have conducted themselves in this difficult time’.
The sincerity of the decision, based on a traditional interpretation of biblical teaching, is not in doubt. What it might signify for the future of the Church of Scotland is less certain. In a television interview after the news became public, Harry Reid predicted that it could mean the end of the Church of Scotland as a national institution, which until now has enjoyed ‘establishment’ status similar to that of the Church of England. In future, it might simply be a loose federation of Presbyterian congregations representing varied theological positions, ranging from ‘liberal progressive’ to ‘conservative evangelical’.
The symbolic value of the Gilcomston decision is important. The church building (which the minister and congregation have had to vacate) is in the centre of Aberdeen, less than a mile away from the Queen’s Cross Church which, by inducting the Reverend Scott Rennie as the first openly gay minister in the Church of Scotland, ignited a debate which is still far from resolved. If other churches follow the example of Gilcomston and St George’s Tron, the appeal of secession could grow. It is unlikely to reach the scale of the Great Disruption of 1843, when nearly 40% of the ministry and a third of the congregations left the established church to form the Free Church of Scotland, but it would be enough to weaken the Kirk’s voice in public affairs.
That voice is already subdued compared to that of the Catholic Church whose leaders are not slow to make strong public statements on the question of gay relationships, even if these do not reflect the views of many of their members, some of whom have publicly challenged the official position. Quite apart from the substantive issue of the rights of gay and lesbian people in society (about which I have written before in SR), what is striking in current utterances is the kind of argument that is invoked by those opposing reform.
For traditionalist Presbyterians, what matters is the authority of the Bible, treated unambiguously as the word of God. Questions relating to the authorship of particular biblical texts, the cultural and political context in which they were written or transcribed, alternative interpretations of key passages, are regarded as attempts to dilute the central message. There is a desire for absolute certainty which, it is believed, will guide believers through the messy complexity of living.
I am often impressed by the formidable knowledge of the Bible possessed by Christians of a fundamentalist persuasion. But I am also struck by the extreme narrowness of their reading beyond the Bible. My suggestion that great literature is as likely to yield useful insights into the human condition – and the ethical dilemmas which it poses – as works of theology or philosophy, is greeted with bemusement. This difference of perspective means that, after a certain point, there is little scope for productive dialogue.
Catholics invoke a different form of authority. For them, the Bible has to be mediated through the church hierarchy, whose pronouncements in formal documents approved by the Vatican are then disseminated to the laity. Increasingly, however, many Catholics who still wish to remain within the church do not accept, or follow, the official line on a whole range of issues: sex outside marriage; contraception; the position of women; the prohibition on married priests. Whereas the current challenge to authority within the Kirk is coming from its conservative wing, that within the Catholic church is coming from a range of liberal pressure groups.
In both cases there is a need to question the basis of authority. To what extent does it derive from a credible religious stance and to what extent is it driven simply by a desire to maintain various forms of power (social, intellectual, political) that have brought benefits to those exercising religious leadership? The history of all religions suggests that beneath their appealing public discourse of faith, hope and charity there is a dark underside which is more concerned with dogmatism, control and self-interest.
Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland and is now a visiting professor of education at the University of Stirling
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