Doing the Lambeth Walk

A. N. Wilson

The announcement of a Roman pontiff's election is made from a Vatican balcony by a cardinal proclaiming: Annun- vobis gaudeam magnolia: habemus Papam. Robert Runcie chose to make one of his first public appearances after his elec- tion to the throne of St Augustine by minc- ing down the stairs of Michael Parkinson's television studio to the tune of 'Doing the Lambeth Walk'. It is hard to imagine even the more conceited of his predecessors — Cosmo Gordon Lang for instance, or Geof- frey Fisher — being so thirsty for cheap publicity that they would be prepared to make fools of themselves in this way.

Last Thursday, the Archbishop made another minor bid for publicity when he held a news conference in the Jerusalem Chamber in Dean's Yard. It was here, I seem to remember, that Bishop Colenso was tried for heresy by his fellow bishops in the last century. Colenso, thought to be un- sound on the question of eternal punish- ment, had shocked the Christian cons- ciences of England by permitting polygamy in his African diocese. It seemed an ap- propriate place, therefore, to catch a glimp- se of Runcie, whose latest contribution to the discussion of public morals has been to urge polygamy (or the remarriage of' those already married) on members of the Church of England.

In fact, the press conference was organis- ed by Hodder and Stoughton, who have 'ust published Runde: The Making of an Archbishop by a woman called Margaret Duggan. Runcie and she sat together behind a table, a curious pair. She looked like a stenographer in a 1950s American situation comedy. One felt that if she unpil- ed her blonde bun and removed her grotes- quely large specs she might turn out to be beautiful. It was impossible to nurse any such illusion about the Archbishop.

'The days of anonymity are over,' he drawled. And it became immediately ap- parent that he was a travel bore. 'I've just got back from Germany . . . Next week I'm making an important visit to China as President of the British Council of Chur- ches' . . 'I think my visits make an impor- tant contribution. Until they meet me, peo- ple abroad tend to think that my job as Archbishop is to kiss popes, marry princesses and preach sermons on the Falkland Islands.' • I do not know about people abroad. Most people at home would think this was, indeed, more or less what we want from an Archbishop of Canterbury. Doubtless we would also like it if he spent a bit more time in the diocese of Canterbury, and a couple of days a week, perhaps, in the House of Lords. For recreation he could stretch his gaitered calves on a gout stool in the Athenaeum and think with dread of the next Lambeth Conference. Instead, he seems to conceive his function as a sort of ecclesiastical foreign secretary, dashing about the world to attend boring con- ferences and spending most of his waking hours in airport lounges. Most politicians spend far too much of their time doing this sort of thing. But , why should an Archbishop of Canterbury?

Even at home, he is never still. 'I like to go to as many State banquets as I can. It has been made known to me that if I attend them I can make some sort of contribu- tion.' How do you make a contribution to a State banquet? By offering a bring a .pud- ding, or pay for the wine? It is all hot air.

One would not mind Runcie making an ass of himself if his globe-trotting publicity stunts were not having a deleterious effect on the Church of which he is supposed to be the Primate. One of the troubles with peo- ple who travel a lot and spend more time shaking hands with foreigners than they do thinking or reading is that they end up try- ing to be polite to everyone. 'I've just got back from Germany,' he repeated. 'It was thought I could make a contribution to the Lutheran Synod.' Did he tell them that since meeting the Pope he had decided that Luther had been wrong to stir up all the trouble in the 16th century? Of course not. He had said bland things to the Pope. He said bland things to the Lutherans. He was

saying bland things now he was home again. And the principles for which, as Bishop of St Alban's he appeared to stand, have all got muddled and forgotten.

Let us remember three of them. As Bishop of St Alban's, he was a keen member of the Commission for Anglican- Orthodox Doctrinal Discussions. The Church of England, oddly enough, has had

links with the churches of Eastern or- thodoxy since the 17th century; but it was only in our own generation that the Or- thodox came close to recognising the full catholicity. of Anglican orders.

Runcie, who seemed keen on this, spoke out against the ordination of women at the Lambeth Conference and in the General Synod, on the grounds that it would destroy the confidence, carefully built up over three centuries, which the Orthodox felt in the authenticity of the Church of England. But, only three years after coming down Michael Parkinson's staircase, he flew of to New Zealand to receive the sacrament from the hands of a woman. We were told at the time

that it would compromise his principles if

he actually 'concelebrated' at the altar with a woman, which surprised some people, since these 'women priests' were at least in communion with the Church of England. Only a few weeks later, Runcie was in a

'worship tent' in Lima, concelebrating some sort of Eucharist with a miscellaneous gaggle of women all of whom belonged to protestant sects who are not in communion with the Church of England.

This slithery absence of principle is ap- parent in every utterance he makes. We are told by his biographer — and in the right setting, a university for instance, he likes to hint himself — that he is 'liturgically con- servative'. There was even a joyous rumour, when he was first appointed, that he had chucked all the Alternative Service Books out of Lambeth Palace chapel and put back the old prayer books. But he has made no defence of the Book of Common

Prayer, no public suggestion that its use should be maintained in the parish churches of England. And at no big public ceremonY since his enthronement has he given his con- gregation services in the old tradition.

Then, there is the marriage question. In announcing to the General Synod the

engagement of Prince Charles in 1981, Run-

de said, 'How greatly encouraged we are here by the respect in which the marriage bond is held and by the witness to it in the life of the royal family.' Two years later, he appears to be advocating divorce.

The English do not expect the Arch- bishop of Canterbury to be their Pope. They do not, in other words, take any of his utterances particularly seriously. But with a man at the top who can change his mind so radically on three such important issues as orders, liturgy and marriage, they might feel that he is doing more harm than good. The woman in specs introduced him at the press conference as 'the Archbishop who has really moved into this end of the twen- tieth century'. Can one be more danuntog than that?