If Christ the Liberator were to arrive in England tomorrow, he would probably find the bishops knee‑deep in the long grass, earnestly explaining why the latest working group needs just a little more time. He would ask a straightforward question about justice for gay men and be met with the familiar rustle of papers, the polite cough, and the promise of “further listening”.

Limentinus

Christ the Liberator, the Bishops and the Long Grass

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If Christ the Liberator were to turn up today, not in a blaze of trumpets but in the quietly inconvenient way probably would, how would he deal with the Church of England and its long, hesitant dance around the dignity of gay men.

The Gospels present Jesus as the one who brings freedom to the oppressed, good news to the poor and release to the captive. Any church that claims apostolic continuity must therefore be judged by how faithfully it lives out that liberating agenda.

The Church of England, with its historic episcopate and its fondness for describing itself as apostolic, offers a particularly English case study. It has the lineage, the liturgy and the inherited confidence of an Established church, although it repeatedly hesitates on matters of social justice, especially when those matters involve LGBTQ people.

Apostolic succession and the Anglican claim

The Church of England maintains an unbroken line of episcopal consecrations that many other communions recognise as valid. This historic continuity is central to its self‑understanding despite Roman Catholic attemtps to undermine that Anglican status with “Apostolicae curae” in 1896 and the The Personal Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham, the English branch of the Ordinariate, established in January 2011.

However, apostolic succession isn’t simply a genealogical boast or a knockabout with the Roman Catholics looking for market share. It’s meant to be a theological promise that the church will carry forward the apostolic mission, proclaim the Kingdom, serve the marginalised and embody radical love.

When a church’s practice drifts too far from that mission, its apostolic identity begins to look rather thin and succession looks little more than a mutual admiration society for bishops.

The current Anglican position on same sex relationships

Recent decisions in General Synod illustrate the tension. In February 2023 the Synod approved blessings for same sex couples while explicitly rejecting same sex marriage. It was a compromise that allowed clergy to opt out and left the question of licensing or ordaining same sex married clergy in an uneasy limbo.

By February 2026 the church had abandoned its three year pursuit of formal same sex marriage blessings altogether, opting instead for yet another working group to continue exploring the issue.

Public statements acknowledged the distress and pain inflicted on LGBTQ people, although the official stance remained a sort of partial inclusion that stops short of full sacramental recognition. It’s the ecclesiastical equivalent of offering someone a cup of tea while refusing to let them sit down.

Would the liberating Christ recognise this church as authentic

Historical continuity alone wouldn’t be enough for Christ the Liberator. He would recognise the seed. Bishops ordained in an apostolic line, sacraments celebrated faithfully, and countless saint-like Anglicans who live out the Beatitudes in food banks, refugee projects and climate campaigns. But his judgement would quickly move to the gap between proclamation and practice.

There is the hypocrisy of partial blessing. In the Gospels, Jesus criticises those who fuss over outward appearances while neglecting justice, mercy and faithfulness. Allowing blessings only for those already married in civil law, while refusing full sacramental marriage, mirrors that pattern. It’s a gesture of welcome that withholds the substance.

There is also the failure to stand with the oppressed. The liberator’s mission is to set the oppressed free. LGBTQ people continue to face discrimination, mental health crises and spiritual marginalisation. A church that laments past harm while maintaining structural barriers to full inclusion isn’t embodying Christ’s liberating ethic.

Christ would acknowledge the church’s apostolic lineage, but he would challenge its incomplete justice. He would likely regard it as an authentic but wounded body, one that needs repentance and reform.

How Christ might teach the church on LGBTQ inclusion

First, he would affirm the dignity of every person as made in the image of God. Christ repeatedly affirmed those denied a voice. A similar affirmation today would demand full sacramental recognition of loving, committed same sex relationships, not a conditional blessing that can be quietly declined.

Second, he would prioritise love over legalism. Paul reminds us that love is the fulfilment of the law. Christ would likely urge the church to let love guide the canon, rather than preserving historic teaching for its own sake when that teaching causes harm.

Third, he would model prophetic solidarity. Jesus sat with those whom society rejected. In practice this would mean bishops and clergy standing publicly with LGBTQ communities, advocating for equal marriage and supporting LGBTQ youth.

Fourth, he would call for humility. Christ taught that whoever wants to be first must be servant of all. The Anglican hierarchy would be invited to relinquish its gate‑keeping instincts and allow local congregations to welcome all couples fully.

A vision for a liberated Anglican church

If Christ the Liberator were to rewrite the Church of England’s future, the picture might include full sacramental marriage for loving adults of any gender, celebrated with the same liturgical richness as any other union. Prayers of Love and Faith would become standard rather than optional. A concrete social justice agenda would accompany theological inclusion, with funding for LGBTQ youth services and advocacy for anti‑discrimination laws. The church would speak plainly in public life about justice, echoing the prophetic call for righteousness to flow like a river.

In this vision, the church retains its historic episcopate and liturgical continuity while embodying the liberating heart of the Gospel. It would no longer be a national church that mirrors British caution, but a global church that models the kingdom ethic of radical inclusion.

Final Thoughts

The Church of England’s claim to apostolic succession is historically well argued, but Christ the Liberator’s yardstick probably runs a little deeper than lineage.

His assessment would honour the sacramental life of the Anglican Churches although critique its partial inclusion of LGBTQ people as a lingering wound. He would call for a fuller, love‑driven theology that embraces same sex marriage, demands solidarity with the marginalised and aligns church policy with the call to free the oppressed.

The challenges to individual Anglicans from within that organisation are real, but the challenges are precisely the crucibles through which Christ’s liberating mission refines the church.

The ultimate test for Anglicanism isn’t whether it can trace a line of bishops back to the apostles, but whether it can live out the apostolic mission of liberation for all.

FAQ

FAQ 1: What does “Christ the Liberator” mean in the context of this reflection?

The piece uses Christ the Liberator to explore how Christian leadership often drifts away from the radical compassion, justice and solidarity embodied in the Gospels. It contrasts Christ’s liberating presence with the institutional caution of bishops who, as the article suggests, sometimes “hide in the long grass” rather than confront injustice directly.

FAQ 2: Why are bishops described as being ‘in the long grass’?

The phrase symbolises avoidance, delay and institutional self‑protection. The article argues that when crises arise, church leaders can retreat into procedural language, committees or silence instead of offering moral clarity. This imagery highlights the tension between pastoral responsibility and institutional caution.

FAQ 3: What is the central concern of the article?

The reflection asks whether modern Christian leadership still reflects the liberating, courageous example of Christ. It suggests that when bishops avoid difficult truths or fail to stand with the vulnerable, the Church risks losing credibility and moral authority. The piece ultimately calls for a return to a more honest, courageous form of witness.