The Churches

Some of My Best Friends

By MONICA FURLONG

Ttin great thing about religious Dissent is that it keeps reasonable hours and has a sound appreciation of central heating. Speaking as one whose churchgoing is habitually carried out in the early morning on an empty stomach in a bitterly cold building. I can see great charm in becoming a sectarian and have my eye on the new Unitarian Church in Essex Street. It has blissfully comfortable chairs, the congregation (judging by numerous appreciative references) read the Guardian to a man, lessons are as likely to be from T. S. Eliot as from the Bible, and every service is followed by public argument between the congregation and its ministers, or even between ministers and ministers. There are no creeds, Christ is not the Son of God and there- fore not infallible Ca supreme example of the Jewish genius' someone called Jesus at Essex Street the other night) and God Himself is not exempt, I fancy, from the occasional brisk cross- examination when occasion seems to demand it. The abasements and confessions. prostrations and genuflexions, adorations and mysteries of more old-fashioned religions have vanished, and one is left with an extremely cool religious customer, vertical and cerebral. If he does seem a bit smug, particularly in patronising references to the Roman and Anglican Churches, on the other hand he has all the correct liberal reflexes on social issues. And goodness knows, that's more than can be said for many an Anglican or Roman Catholic.

Into this congenial atmosphere (air-condi- tioned, I forgot to mention) came Lord Altrincham last Sunday night, invited to address

the congregation after several startling articles on Christianity in the Guardian. Altrincham's own religion is a pretty unusual one. He dis- approves of sacraments, will not say any creeds, thinks he would have disliked Christ if he had known Him personally, and believes that the Church of England should fling doctrine over- board and settle for intuition and ethics.

It was the prospect of seeing like meet like

Which lured me dinnerless across London in the rain. Here, I thought, is a man coming into his spiritual home; and I looked eagerly forward to the first sparks of mutual recognition, the Weeping embraces, the shouts of joy and the barbecue of the fatted calf. The only trouble was that both sides 'were under considerable mis- apprehensions. The Unitarians were firmly of the opinion that Altrincham was an Anglican and as such a suitable victim to rub off some old scores against the Established Church in a good- humoured way. Lord Altrincham also labours under the delusion that he is an Anglican. Mis-

understandings like these make clear-headed dis- cussion difficult.

The one issue on which both sides turned out to be thoroughly united was that the Church of England nowadays is just as funny and impos- sible as can be. Giving his address under the rousing title 'Theology is bunk,' Altrincham said he was not a rebel, merely a reformer. His notion of reform is decidedly sweeping; for instance, removing Ramsey and Coggan from Canterbury and York (not enough pastoral experience), abandoning the teaching of theology in theologi- cal colleges entirely (too academic), and allowing everybody into the Church whether they believe anything or nothing.

'There arc, I am convinced, many good poten- tial Christians who are forced to be agnostics because of the unreasonable attitude of the Church.'

'But what do you do,' asked one fascinated lady, 'when you are in Church and it comes to the Creed?'

'One keeps silent,' replied Lord Altrincham. `If one was to fly off the handle every time one disagreed with some small thing one would never succeed in reforming anything.'

Once the meeting had been thrown open for discussion under the sunny chairmanship of Sir Adrian Boult, is was clear Altrincham had made

an excellent impression. Compliments were bandied about for a bit—'uplifting,' inspiring,' 'stimulating,' a rare privilege,' the only voice of sanity writing on religion in our national press' —and then, rather in the manner of small boys boasting about their dads' cars, the congregation and its ministers set about outbidding Lord Altrincham in unorthodoxy. The senior minister said he was sure he personally would prefer hell to heaven. ('After all, all the Popes and Arch- bishops of Canterbury will be in heaven.') The junior minister agreed with a man from the floor that the Bible is vastly overrated. The senior minister saw the move towards Church unity in this country as a step towards spiritual dictator- ship and authoritarianism. The junior minister made that cosy old joke about God reading the Guardian. One speaker didn't think Christianity stood a chance against Communism, and another, quaint enough to mention the revealed Word of God, was put down effectively with a quotation from William James. The senior minister found himself vastly amused by the droll wording of the Nieman and Apostolic Creeds and there seemed to be widespread agreement that only a fool would really believe in any religious doctrine and insist on saying so.

Fearfully embarrassed by all this doctrinal striptease like a virgin at an orgy, I was relieved when a fierce, impatient voice broke into the discussion.

'I'm a Jew. Not an Orthodox Jew or an observ- ing Jew, but a Jew, and I came here tonight be- cause 1 want to find out what Christians believe. I want to know what God was trying to say through Christ. Theology isn't bunk. It's God revealing Himself —in the Old Testament through the history of the Jews, in the New Testament through Christ. If Christ is not infallible then there's no point in being a Christian. I came here tonight because 1 wanted to find out what Christianity is. I can't say you've help me much.'

Everyone said how very, very nice it was to see a Jew around the place and hoped he would come again.