At the beginning of February, I visited Rome as part of an all-party parliamentary group delegation to the Vatican.
I’d been to Rome before, but even familiarity doesn’t diminish the enormity of the buildings and the whole institution of the Church.
Standing inside St Peter’s Basilica, overwhelmed by its grandeur, I gazed at the inscription which runs around the inside of the cupola. “Tu es Petrus” it states, reminding us of the account of how the apostle Simon is given a new name and is commissioned to build Christ’s church:
“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." (Matt 16:18).
It felt humbling to be inside a building which was created to the glory of God and has been a reminder of the witness, through the centuries, of God’s church.
But although we may easily forget it when we gaze upon the majestic, awe-inspiring sight of St Peter’s, or that of Canterbury Cathedral, or even our own beloved St Edmundsbury Cathedral, the rock upon which Christ’s church is founded is not about those kinds of stones.
Even Peter is just “petros” – something like a pebble, the kind of rock that you could pick up and throw.
In comparison, the stone upon which God will build the church is a huge foundation stone – the sort of stone that is hewn out of the side of a cliff. And as St Peter knew, the foundation stone of our church and our faith is Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God.
God’s kingdom is not about religious symbols, or the wealth and resources which underlie grand building projects, or the traditions which give religion its sense of permanence and authority. God’s kingdom is not heralded by displays of might.
Instead, as Jesus teaches us in Chapter 13 of Mark’s gospel, God’s kingdom is about a reign of justice and peace, which may be marked first by war and natural disaster, before the fruits of a new age can be ushered in.
My Vatican visit and recent world events have prompted me to think hard about power.
Our delegation – made up of people from different faith traditions and political persuasions – was there to talk about safeguarding, among other things. But what is a delegation?
We were there by invitation, and invitations of that nature are the fruit of existing bonds of friendship between churches and governments – bonds which can do much good.
We were not there to inspect or to criticize. We were there to pose questions, but, as much as we might have had searching questions for the people we were visiting, our questions needed also to be ones that we were willing to ask of ourselves and of the different faith institutions that we represented.
When it comes to safeguarding, all our churches have failed. We have let abusers operate in our midst. We have turned a blind eye. We have failed to pay attention to the systems and processes that help to keep the most vulnerable safe. We have failed to hear, believe, and care for victims and survivors of abuse. We have failed to draw victims and survivors adequately into the co-creation of new ways of being.
In the Church of England, our safeguarding improvements in the past 10 years in both policy and practice show our commitment to change. Responding well to victims and survivors is a core part of this.
But we must never be complacent, and all churches must be committed to restoring right relations both with those who have been hurt and with God.
My predominant reflection from my visit, one which applies as much to the Church of England as to the Roman Catholic Church, is that when we hide behind our institutional identity or rest in the grandeur of our buildings and other structures, we are furthest away from Jesus, our gentle, wounded Saviour.
At the heart of many safeguarding issues is not just sexual or other abuse, but the misuse of power. Those who abuse power do not like to be questioned. They do not like to have to account for their position or their decisions. They hide behind words, rituals, and buildings.
In Lent, though actually at all times, we need to deepen the self-examination and repentance that should already be at the heart of our own practice of faith, so that when we become too comfortable with the power and status that we hold, we are brought firmly to our knees.
In particular, I want to invite you to challenge me. I’ve enjoyed taking up my place in the House of Lords as one of the Lords Spiritual – though I have to say, it felt a bit like being on a film set walking into the chamber. But if I ever appear to be getting used to it or start thinking that I belong there, then please put me firmly back in my place.
Please ask me why I am doing the things I do. Pull me up when I don’t strike the right tone. Challenge me on theological matters when we disagree – including on some of the difficult matters which we will discuss later in our agenda. Point out when I appear to hide behind tradition or ritual. Nudge me when I am not listening well enough.
I will need to take responsibility myself for working at all these things. But I want you to know that, even though I will undoubtedly find it uncomfortable, I know that I will need to welcome and pay attention to what you might be saying.
If we have started from proper self-examination and humility, churches and church leaders can have a role to play in interrogating the way power is used in the world.
That includes people of faith asking difficult questions about the inadequacy of the current proposed legislation around assisted dying. It includes ethicists and theologians examining the morality and legality of the USA and Israel’s strikes on Iran. It includes us as the established church of this country asking questions of our monarchy and our politicians in relation to abuse, trafficking, and the abuse of power.
From our knees, we have the possibility of posing valuable and even sharp questions into the maelstrom of our current age. A humbled church will be one which is learning to use its power well, including on behalf of those who are voiceless.
This goes beyond institutions and traditions. It’s about staying close to the kingdom values which Jesus wanted to see taking hold among the people he loved.
When he spoke about there being wars and rumours of wars, Jesus was beginning to show his disciples what a confessing community looks like, one which lives by what has been revealed to it. Knowing that they will experience persecution, feel alarm, and sometimes not know how to defend the truth which has been revealed to them, he only points them to faithfulness to God.
Standing firm in God: that’s the right kind of might. Standing up for the vulnerable: that’s the right use of power. Asking the tough questions of ourselves and others: that’s when both the pebbles and rocks should be pointing to Jesus Christ, the one on whom all truth – and all hope – is founded.