‘You’ve Been Served’
[A description of the context for this satirical play on the
Church of England is provided in the Afterword.]
Knock-knock…. Knock-knock….
Knock-knock….
‘Maybe I’ll
just peek in the window to see if anyone is here.’
‘Of course
someone is here. This is Lambeth
Palace. Someone is always here.’
Knock-knock…. (door is eventually opened by a person
holding and stroking a Yorkshire Terrier)
‘Yes?’
‘Afternoon,
Mum. We’d like to speak with Mr.
Canterbury, please. Oh! Ah, No offense. I was just confused by the dress. Would you be Mr. Canterbury, then, Sir?’
‘This is not a
dress. I’m wearing a robe.’
‘Right. Very good, Sir. Harold here likes to dress up, too!’
‘Oi, knock it
off, mate!’
‘Just a little
joke with my friend, Harold. As it
happens, Sir, I have some document here and just need your signature that you
have received it. Right on that
line. Official stuff, I imagine, but
only Mr. Canterbury can sign for this one.’
‘Yes, yes, lots
of official business here. Thank
you. Let’s see what we have here.’ (opens envelope)
‘Well, how do
you like that! I’m being served divorce
papers!’
‘So sorry to
hear that, Sir! Would you like to use my
pen?’
‘It’s my wife,
Ginger, divorcing me, and she wants most of our overseas properties. Oh, and this is rich: she wants six of our eight
children.’
‘Horrible stuff,
Sir. But I have a note here that the
papers came from a Mrs. Gafcon in Rwanda.
I also don’t have the name ‘Ginger.’
And how is it she’s Gafcon and you are Canterbury? Are we talking about the right person?’
‘Oh, she’s
already using her new name, Gafcon. And I
nicknamed her Ginger, as in ‘ginger group’—an insignificant yapper always
spicing things up and trying to control what goes on in grand halls such as mine.’
‘Ouch! If you don’t mind me saying so, Sir, that
might be one of the problems for this marriage!’
‘Good disagreement,
my man, good disagreement. Our marriage
counsellor said years ago that disagreement is good if you keep walking
together. Just walking together, despite
our differences, can be healing, you know.’
‘I see you have
some very smart walking shoes, Sir. But Harold,
here, tells me that that didn’t work out so well for him and his
trouble-and-strife. The longer the walk,
the more the disagreement. Right,
Harold? Better resolve the differences
than try to walk them out, I say. What
was the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Well, it says
here that I “tore the fabric of our community”.
What on earth does that mean? As
I recall, I was the one who wanted continuous and constructive dialogue. Isn’t disagreement in a marriage just a higher
form of unity? This new value of
diversity is so helpful as it teaches us to have ‘good disagreement’ and to
celebrate it as a sign of our unity no matter what. The more we disagree but still stay together,
the greater our unity.’
‘Oh, Harold,
what do you make of that?’
‘All I can say
is that the wife was very disagreeable, indeed!
Very disagreeable. We were united
in disagreement for seven years. Left me
depressed in the end, and I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘Oh, nothing
like that, I’m sure, for us. The three
of us had wonderful times of dialogue about living in love and faith
together—one big, happy family over many years with lots of disagreement unity. At least, so I thought.’
‘The three of
you, Governor? I see a man in a dress
behind you. Would that the third party?’
‘Why yes, bless
him, er, her. Come out over here, Fang. Don’t hide yourself by the closet…. ((aside)
I’m not sure he likes that nickname, but it is a play on his real name.) You
see, my wife just never appreciated Fang in our marriage. She wined and complained and, well, threw
everything at me, including the Bible, of all things.’
‘Ooh, not very nice. Mustn’t be throwing the Holy Book around.’
‘Indeed! It has its place on the shelf. It’s not one of the instruments of communion,
you know.’
‘Now that there
is a fine sounding thing. What are these
instruments of communion?’
‘Well, I’m one
of them.’
‘Ah, now that
is something to ponder. It must be a
very fine thing to be an instrument of communion. How about that, Harold? What are the others, then?’
‘Not “what” but
‘who.” The instruments are three other
groups of people.’
‘Just wondering
out loud, Sir, but I once heard something about unity involving shared
commitments, not just people stuck in endless disagreement with one another. Mr. Sartre there over the Channel said
something about that being hell. People
stuck with each other for eternity in snippy disagreement with each other—might
be worse than fire and brimstone. It is
a lovely thought, mind you, to have so many people in your life, telling you
that you are doing a fine job. Three
groups, you say? But I imagine this wife
of yours wanted to lay down a few rules for your unity—maybe, like, sticking to
the old marriage vows.’
‘Lived
experience makes the difference, not obedience to some old list of commitments
that we once wrote up early in the marriage.
Things have changed, and we need to move with the times. Our lived experience is what keeps the ship
afloat, not the builder’s plans. Hold me
responsible for love, not commitments about the meaning of marriage, gender,
and all that stuff. The problem with my wife was that she just did not want to
live in love and faith with us. She kept
whining about my not living up to what we committed ourselves to years ago. Fang needs our loving care and blessing. Inclusion—that’s the word. Come here, Cuddles,
I’ll include you. Everyone needs to be
loved and included. Everyone
counts. Living in faith does not mean
fidelity to commitments to way back when, you know, but to people, to one
another no matter our disagreements.’
‘Yes, Governor,
I was wondering about that word ‘faith’.
You have a way of giving words a twist or two. What does ‘living in faith’ mean?’
‘Oh, it simply
means we are a big family in relation to one another. Like, for instance, there is a belching uncle
in the corner, full of alcohol, at the family reunion, but he is still your
uncle. That is why the instruments of
communion are all living people. You
cannot choose your family. It has
nothing to do with what we are committed to, as though commitments to beliefs
are more important than commitments to each other. It’s like being in a family—we’re stuck with
each other no matter what we believe.’
‘That Mr. Sartre
called his play, “No Exit.” Stuck with
each other in continuous disagreement for eternity. You must have seen the play or read it at
some point. Anyway, am I right in
concluding that you do not believe in any commitments to beliefs or practices,
just people?’
‘Well, yes, you
could put it that way. But we do have
beliefs somewhere on file, and we love our practices. We even dress up for them. As I say, though, neither is an instrument of
unity for a marriage—not in my books. Commitments
have a place only because, without them, we could not disagree, and we show our
unity by disagreeing about them together. When we pull out our old documents with the
commitments we once agreed on, I understand them to be a way to generate good
discussion. It is not as if they are
revealed truth or anything wild like that!
(Fang snickers)
You bring up a
good point, though, because my wife was always trying to hold me to our old commitments
as though they mattered more than our living in love together in this faith
family. She did treat them as a kind of
objective truth. Dripping faucet, she
was.’
‘Oh, so what
you mean by faith is not what you believe but with whom you hang out? To live in faith is to hang out with your
group?’
‘Something like
that, I suppose. I try not to get my
thoughts confused. Maybe Fang can
explain.’
‘I’ll give it a
go, Sweetie. You see, once you realise
that there is no objective truth, you can’t go around saying that ‘faith’ is
something you believe to be true. It is
just something you do and do together. Beliefs,
truth—they are like optional earrings and necklaces. What really matters is the party.’
‘That’s all a
bit much for my mind, Sir, or Mum.
Harold, help me out here as I’m treading water.’
‘I’ve seen this
stuff before. You should take a walk
down at Piccadilly Circus or Leicester Square sometime. Build a statue to Eros, and you don’t ask
questions about who is loving whom and how.
Folk who think this way say that love is all you need. They claim that anyone who says some
relationships are off limits is just stuck in a past century. Instead, they say, love is a liquid. There is no container, and so we should bless
it wherever it flows.’
‘Harold, you
are becoming a philosopher.’
‘I watch TV 4
and read the Daily Mail.’
‘Hmm. A well-rounded man, indeed. Right, now if what Harold says is right, I’m
beginning to wonder if you’re going to sign for these papers, Mr. Canterbury,
Sir. Maybe marriage is anything to you
because you don’t really believe in marriage.
And maybe you cannot sign divorce papers because you can play the same
games with divorce that you play with marriage.
You’re wife seems to live in the real world where faith is what you
believe and love does flow around but is constrained by certain do’s and don’ts
and that sort of thing. She seems to
know what marriage is and wants a divorce.
I’ve seen that statue down in Piccadilly. It should have its blindfold on because love
shoots its arrows without reason or choice.
I suppose you have a statue to Eros here, too, at this grand palace, and
I am sure that, if you do, it is wearing a blindfold. Twang, twang—arrows flying every which
way. Maybe the statue of justice took
off its blindfold and gave it to Eros in your garden. You can make marriage mean whatever you want
it to mean, and you can bless a couple of rocks on top of each other. Things here are all sideways and upside
down. So, Mr. Canterbury, these papers
here, they need a signature.’
‘I can’t sign
those. The structures of our marriage
are always changing. If I sign them
today, they may change tomorrow. But
they haven’t changed, because they cannot—unless I and my fellow instruments of
community change them. We have not. Not yet.
Neither I nor my friends have changed them. Of course, our lived experience has nothing
to do with them in any case. After
another ten years or so of lived experience, we might just change these
structures. Either way, she’s still my
wife if I say so, and she cannot divorce me.’
‘I like playing
‘riddle me’ too, Sir, I really do. But
she is divorcing you. All you need to do is sign the papers that
I’m delivering about that.’
‘Well, we’ll
give it a thought sometime. I look
forward to discussing this with my friends, along with other wonderful
conversations we have all the time.’
‘I will need to
report that you did not sign for the papers.
I will be back, of course. I must
say, Sir, that though this interlocution has not turned out as I had hoped, I very
much look forward to visiting here again.
You have such a lovely palace, and I’d love to see the garden and its
statues.’
‘Thank
you. Perhaps. And please do tell my wife on her African tour that
we pray for her and the children as they face poverty, conflict, famine,
discrimination, and persecution around the world. Such a shame about all that. Goodbye….
And come, Lovey, let’s finish getting dressed up for our next
conversation about the king’s coronation.’
(door closes)
‘Harold, whoever
said Wonderland was down a rabbit hole?
I think we found it right here.’
‘Well, yes and
no, I’d say. In Wonderland, the sun was trying
to make the billows smooth and bright, like this Mr. Canterbury. I’ll give you that. But it was shining with all its might in the
middle of the night, as I recall. Here, the
sun only claims that the waves are smooth when they are right tumblers, and it
is the darkness that is doing the shining—and in the middle of the day!’
‘God help that
Mrs. Gafcon and her children!’
Afterword
Context for this satire: The Anglican
Communion is breaking up, with the final straw being the Church of England’s
vote to bless same-sex unions. While
Western provinces are in the great minority of Anglicans, they have maintained
power through structure, antiquity, and wealth.
The Global South Fellowship of
Anglicans (GSFA) and the overlapping Global Anglican Future Conference (GAFCON)
associates, making up about 75% of the Anglican Communion, are rejecting the
Archbishop of Canterbury and the Church of England. GAFCON voted to do so at its fourth
Conference (21-25 April, 2023) in Kigali, Rwanda.
This follows many years of fruitless conversations
in the Church of England meant to convince the orthodox to remain in fellowship
with the revisionists (false teachers).
Despite calls for the wayward provinces, such as the Church of England,
to repent and affirm the Church’s historic teaching and the authority of
Scripture, the inexorable march away from the Christian faith has continued
with same-sex blessings and a document rejecting Christian teaching called ‘Living
in Love and Faith.’ These Western,
minority provinces have rejected orthodox teaching on various important issues as
they affirm the post-Christian culture. Yet
the focus has been on revising the Church’s teaching on sexuality, gender
identity, and marriage.
The official home of the Archbishop of
the Church of England is at Lambeth Palace.
His historic residence is in Canterbury, and the recently elected dean
of Canterbury Cathedral is a partnered homosexual. The archbishop of York has also rejected the
Church’s historic teaching on marriage and sexuality in favour of
post-Christian England’s cultural changes.