Know the Truth

COPYRIGHT

Harper Press

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This edition published by Harper Perennial 2005

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2004

Copyright © George Carey 2004, 2005

George Carey asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007120291

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CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Foreword

PART I

1 No Backing Out

2 East End Boy

3 Signals

4 Shaken Up

5 A Changing Church

6 Challenges of Growth

7 Letters from Number 10

8 Archbishop-in-Waiting

PART II

9 Women Shake the Church

10 Forced to Change

11 Bishop in Mission

12 Power and Politicians

13 Clash of Cultures

14 Empty Stomachs Have no Ears

15 The Rosewood Tree

16 The Challenge of Homosexuality

17 Lambeth ’98

18 Opening the Door

19 Rubbing Our Eyes

20 From Crusades to Co-Operation

21 The Glory of the Crown

22 A World in Crisis

23 Quo Vadis?

Index

About the Author

About the Publisher

FOREWORD

When, halfway through my archiepiscopate, I decided to write my memoirs I was surprised to discover that I am the only one of 103 Archbishops to have done so. Admittedly Archbishop Thomas Secker in the eighteenth century set out on the task but his sudden death left his memoirs unfinished. This book is a reflection on a ministry of which Archbishop Cosmo Lang said long ago: ‘The post [of Archbishop of Canterbury] is impossible for any one man to do, but only one man can do it.’ Any holder of this historic office knows from first-hand experience that its demands, expectations and opportunities take one to the edge of human endurance, and require of its holders a recognition of our frailty and our need of God’s everlasting grace.

This edition of Know the Truth gives me an opportunity to comment on some of the reactions of those who have read the first edition.

I might have anticipated that certain sections of the press, and, indeed, a few Church leaders, would focus attention on what I wrote about the Royal Family. I was accused of breaking confidentiality, and one writer even saw this as ‘the ultimate betrayal of trust’. There is no truth in this claim. As will become clear to the reader, no conversation I had with any member of the Royal Family is divulged in the book. I have always kept strictly to the principle of pastoral confidentiality, with the Royal Family and indeed with anyone else. However, what particularly caught the media’s attention was the revelation that I had several private conversations with Mrs Parker Bowles. Again, no report of our conversation is given: all that is offered is my opinion of her as an extremely able and nice person.

Controversially, the book did offer my view that the Prince of Wales should marry Mrs Parker Bowles in due course, and I was delighted when the marriage took place on 9 April 2005 in St George’s Chapel, Windsor. If the uproar caused by my views encouraged their decision to marry I am pleased to have played a small role.

April 2005 also saw the death of Pope John Paul II and the inauguration of Pope Benedict XVI. Pope John Paul II will be remembered as an outstanding Pope and I feel privileged to have known him, and to have worked and prayed with him. If he has left behind him a great deal of unfinished business, it is up to his successor to take forward the hope that his predecessor has given. Scepticism has already greeted the appointment of the new Pope, whose record as President of the Sacred Congregation for the Defence of the Faith does not lead one to expect a great change in policy. However, Joseph Ratzinger has a brilliant mind and a deep love for his Lord. He knows the secular challenges all too well. I pray that he will take risks for the sake of the gospel. His own Church is dying in many parts of the West for lack of vocations to the priesthood. Now is the time to tackle the issue of priestly celibacy and make it optional in the Church, the time to look more sympathetically on the ordination of women and to encourage a healthy debate both within and outside the Roman Catholic Church. Now is also the time to support the action of Catholic agencies in caring for those affected by HIV/AIDS by allowing the use of condoms as part of the strategy to defeat the pandemic. I also suggest that now is the time to make Pope John Paul II’s encyclical Ut Unum Sint a gift to the unity of the Church. Only the Roman Catholic Church, with its pre-eminence in numbers, can do this. Many Christians have become impatient with the slowness of ecumenism and question the amount of time and money going into structural unity at the expense of mission and service.

In the first edition of this book I warned that the consecration of a practising homosexual in the American Church would lead to deep divisions in the Anglican Communion. This has proved the case and the future of the Communion may be bleak if the Episcopal Churches of the United States and Canada continue to assume that they can take unilateral actions on this matter without regard to the rest of the Communion. Events have confirmed my worst fears about the weakness of the Anglican theology of the Church.

Since original publication events have also shown the importance and urgency of the chapter on inter-faith co-operation. I remain convinced that Christians must continue their dialogue with Muslims and Jews in particular, but without forgetting links with other world faiths. Dialogue without friendship, kindness and honest criticism will always remain aloof and bland; with bonds of affection it can contribute substantially to our divided and polarised world.

Few spiritual journeys are ever walked alone. So many people have travelled with me, and I shall remain everlastingly grateful for their patience, kindness, friendship and support. Pride of place goes gladly to my wife Eileen, whose rock-like presence in my life and work is evident throughout this journey. What a great friend she has been over these tumultuous years and what times have we shared together. Then there are our parents who, though out of sight through death, are never out of our minds and grateful hearts. We think of our brothers and sisters whose lives are inextricably linked with our story, and of our beloved children and their husbands and wives, who have shared our joy and pain over some difficult years. Thank you, Rachel and Andy, for your love and care for us at the Old Palace; and Mark and Penny, Andrew and Helen and Lizzie and Marcus – not forgetting thirteen wonderful grandchildren. Thank you, each one of you, for constantly reminding us that life is a gift to be enjoyed.

In the making of this book there are a number of people who should be thanked and appreciated. I am so grateful to Julia Lloyd, who spent a year at Lambeth going through the records and recording speeches, travel journals and staff records in such a way that my task was made much easier. My son Andrew has also been a tower of strength, going over the draft chapters with a careful eye, reminding me of incidents I had forgotten – and in some cases those I wanted to forget! I am grateful to him for his thoroughness, wisdom, insight and incisiveness. Thanks must go to Sir Philip Mawer, Richard Hop-good and Richard Lay for their help with the chapter on the Church Commissioners; to Dr Mary Tanner for her careful insights on the ecumenical chapter; to Canon Andrew Deuchar, Canon Roger Symon and Dr Alistair Macdonald-Radcliffe for their suggestions with respect to the chapters dealing with the Anglican Communion; to Canon Andrew White and Canon David Marshall for positive comments on the inter-faith chapter; and to the Very Reverend Michael Mayne and Sir Ewan Harper for helpful criticisms of the chapter on the Royal Family. I alone am responsible for the use I have made of all the assistance offered; any shortcomings are entirely my fault.

I also wish to record my debt of gratitude to those whose contribution is deeper than I can possibly state. To Dr Ruth Etchells, whose friendship goes back many years, and whose wisdom has always been there and often sought. To Dr James and the Reverend Elisabeth Ewing, two dear American Christians, whose grace has touched the lives of our family so many times over the last decade. To Sir Siggy and Lady Hazel Sternberg and Lord Greville Janner, wonderful Jewish friends whose kindness has reminded me constantly of what we owe to Judaism. In recent years a rich friendship has been established with Professor Akbar Ahmed, a dear Muslim friend, whose scholarship and commitment to dialogue I admire. To Professor Richard McBrien, Professor of Theology at Notre Dame University; Beverley Bra-zauskas; and Professor Gerry O’Collins of the Gregorian University, Rome, for their rich Catholic contribution to our lives.

Finally, I am grateful, too, for the help and professionalism of my editors and the staff at HarperCollins. The final word of thanks must go to God himself. My journey has been one of finding the truth about the Creator through his final revelation in Jesus, the Christ. If my story helps others to find him my unworthy offering will be worth all that Eileen and I have shared together.

GEORGE CAREY

May 2005

1 No Backing Out

‘It is perhaps significant that though state education has existed in England since 1870, no Archbishop has so far passed through it. The first Prime Minister to do so was Lloyd George. Nor has anyone sat on St Augustine’s Chair, since the Reformation, who was not a student at Oxford or Cambridge. Understandably nominations to Lambeth have been conditioned by the contemporary social climate, but such a limitation of the field intake is doubtless on the way out. It is inconceivable that either talent or suitability can be so narrowly confined.’

Edward Carpenter, Cantuar: The Archbishops in Their Office (1988)

AS THE DOOR OF THE OLD PALACE BANGED behind Eileen and the family as they departed for the cathedral, I was left alone in the main lounge to await the summons that would most certainly change the direction of my life. At lunchtime with my family around the kitchen table there had been nervous laughter as Andrew, who had had his hair cut that morning, recounted hearing another customer talk about the ‘enthornment’ of the new Archbishop. We all agreed that that was a great description of it, although another of the family volunteered, ‘At least he didn’t say “entombment”.’

Somewhere in the building Graham James, my Chaplain, was sorting out the robes I would shortly wear. From the lounge window I could see and hear the crowds of people teeming around the west front of the cathedral. They were there to capture a glimpse of the Princess of Wales and other dignitaries including the Prime Minister, John Major. I could not help thinking wryly that within twenty yards of where I was standing another Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, had met his death in the same cathedral on 30 December 1170. My journey from this room was not going to lead me to his fate, but it was bound to bring me too in touch with opposition and conflict, as well as with much joy and fulfilment. The massive, enduring walls of the cathedral overshadowing the Old Palace however were a reassuring sign that the faith and folly, the strengths and weaknesses, the boldnesses and blunders of individual Archbishops are enveloped by the tender love of God and His infinite grace.

The television was on in the room, and I could hear Jonathan Dimbleby and Professor Owen Chadwick solemnly discussing the significance of the enthronement of the 103rd Archbishop of Canterbury. Professor Chadwick, a well-known Church historian, was reminding the viewers of the significance in affairs of state of the role of the Archbishop, an office older than the monarchy and integral with the identity of the nation.

Graham swept in with the first set of clothing I had to wear. ‘We’d better get you dressed, Archbishop,’ he said. ‘There’s no backing out now!’

I put on my cassock as I heard Owen Chadwick say that today, 19 April, was the Feast Day of St Alphege, a former Archbishop of Canterbury who, in 1012 ad in Greenwich, was battered to death by Vikings with ox bones because he refused to allow the Church to pay a ransom for his release. It seemed a hazardous mantle I was about to don.

Suddenly a great deal of noise erupted outside, and we walked over to the window to see the Prime Minister arrive with several other Ministers of State. He waved to the crowds and was ushered into the cathedral.

The whole world, it seemed, was present at the service in one way or another. Not only all the important religious leaders in the country – Cardinal Hume and Archbishop Gregorius, Moderators of the Church of Scotland, the Methodist Church and the Free Churches – but also the Patriarchs of the four ancient Sees of Constantinople, Alexandria, Jerusalem and Antioch. Billy Graham was present as my personal guest and as someone whose contribution to world Christianity was unique and outstanding. Cardinal Cassidy represented Pope John Paul II and the Pontifical Council for Christian Unity. Every Archbishop in the Anglican Communion was present, as was every Bishop in the Churches of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland.

Behind me Dimbleby and Chadwick were now speculating about the new Archbishop. I caught several of the comments: ‘A surprising appointment … he has only been a Bishop less than three years … Yes, an evangelical, but open to others … was born in the East End of London … working class … No, certainly not Oxbridge, but has taught in three theological colleges and Principal of another … comes with experience of parish life as well as being Chairman of the Faith and Order Advisory Group … I think he will be an unpompous Archbishop.’

Mention of my background brought home to me how much I owed to my godly and good parents, who sadly were not here to share in today’s momentous events. How proud, and yet how humble, they would have felt. I smiled to myself as I recalled my mother’s loud comment when in 1985 I was made Canon in Bristol Cathedral: ‘Now I know what the Virgin Mary must have felt like!’ Eileen, rather shocked, wheeled on her: ‘Mum, that’s blasphemy!’ Mother, unrepentant, just smiled.

Yes, how thrilled Mum and Dad would have been; but as realistic Christians they would not be glorying in the pomp and majesty of the day, so much as in the service it represented. They would also be sharing in the tumult of my feelings, and my apprehension as I faced a new future.

Actually, I was not the slightest bit ashamed of my working-class background, which I shared with at least 60 per cent of the population. The popular press had of course milked the story thoroughly, and it was the usual tale of ‘poor boy makes good’ by overcoming huge obstacles to ‘get to the top’. How I hated that kind of language of ‘top’ and ‘success’. It encouraged the stereotype that I was a ‘man of the people’, and therefore in tune with the vast majority of the populace. There was no logic in that, as a moment’s thought should have reminded such journalists that David Sheppard’s background – to take one example of many – did not prevent him from being closely in touch with the underprivileged. Nevertheless, I hoped with all my heart that it was true, and it was very much at the centre of my ministry to represent the cares and interests of ordinary people, with whom I could identify in terms of background.

Some writers, astonishingly, had drawn the conclusion that because I came from an evangelical background my politics were essentially conservative. That was clearly not the case, but neither did it mean that I automatically identified with any particular political party. I saw my role as Archbishop as a defender of the principles of parliamentary democracy. I wanted to support those called to exercise authority, and I would later remind Prime Ministers of both major parties that I saw it as my duty to confront them if they embarked upon policies which I felt undermined the nation in any way.

But what kind of Archbishop was I going to be? As the 103rd Archbishop I was spoiled for choice if modelling myself on any of my predecessors was the way to proceed. Becket feuded so regularly with his King that he spent most of his time in exile. No, that was not for me. The quiet, scholarly Cranmer, perhaps, with whose theology I could identify; but, then again, he was too vacillating and cautious. Nearer my time perhaps one of the greatest of them all, William Temple – scholar, activist, social reformer and inspirer. Yes, a giant among Archbishops, but he was Archbishop of Canterbury for a mere two years during wartime. As a model for this post there were many great men to consider. It struck me that whatever inspiration I received from my illustrious predecessors, I had to be my own man. One thing I could depend upon was that the same divine grace and strength that the previous Archbishops had received was available to me too.

‘It’s time to go, Archbishop,’ said a smiling Graham, handing me my mitre, and then with a prayer we walked towards the door, leaving the television commentary still describing the scene within the cathedral as we advanced to be part of it.

2 East End Boy

‘Perhaps more typical of the period after 1940, when the war settled down into the long slog that it became for most non-combatants is the comment of an old lady from Coventry. Asked by her priest what she did when she heard the sirens, she replied: “Oh, I just read my bible a bit and then says ‘bugger ‘em’ and I goes to bed.” ’

W. Rankin

THE WORLD INTO WHICH I WAS BORN on 13 November 1935 was a very troubled and insecure one. The nations were just emerging from the effects of the devastating Wall Street crash that had led to thousands of bankruptcies and to the ruin of many millions of ordinary people around the world. Europe had been badly affected by the Depression, and the rise of fascism was beginning to trouble many. The United Kingdom was not immune from the turmoil and confusion of the period, with unemployment blighting the lives of millions. An absorbing and important sideline was the worrying problem of the monarchy, that would very shortly lead to the abdication of Edward VII and the accession to the throne of George VI.

To what extent my working-class parents shared in these questions and concerns I have no knowledge, although poverty was an abiding reality in our home. Number 68 Fern Street, Bow, London E3, was a typical working-class terrace house, with two bedrooms and a toilet upstairs, and two rooms and a scullery downstairs. I never heard my parents complain about their council home. They kept it clean and were proud of it.

It was a very happy and loving home into which I was born. I was the eldest of five children. Dennis, the twins Robert and Ruby, and Valerie followed at roughly two-year intervals. It was our privilege to have two wonderful parents.

To outward appearances, there was nothing remarkable about them. Their marriage certificate declared that our father, George Thomas Carey, was a labourer at the time of my birth. His schooling had stopped at fourteen years of age, and from birth until well into his teenage years he was the beneficiary of cast-off clothes and shoes. His background was impressive only for the extent of its poverty and deprivation. He was eight months old when his father died in St Bart’s Hospital as a result of an appendicitis operation at the age of twenty-five. His earliest memory was of his mother’s second marriage to an Irish Roman Catholic, a street trader, who was habitually drunk and who often beat his wife when under the influence of alcohol.

In addition to his older brother John, Dad’s mother gave birth to a further eight children. She only married her Catholic husband on the clear understanding that the two sons of her first marriage were brought up in the Church of England faith. She often took them to Bow Church, which to this day occupies a position of prominence on Mile End Road.

My father told me that two moments of his childhood stand out. His maternal grandparents were both born blind, and when his grandmother passed away his grandfather joined this already very large family. The cramped house necessitated grandson and blind grandfather sharing a single bed. A close relationship grew between them, and the old man devoted many hours to teaching the boy to read. My father was encouraged to recite huge passages of the Bible that later in life he could still recall and repeat. At the age of ten, Dad was due to go on a school trip to Regent’s Park Zoo. The day before the trip, Granddad gave his daughter some money, with the mysterious instruction that should anything happen to him, nothing should stop George going to the zoo. Dad was suddenly woken up during the night and transferred into another bed without knowing why. On his return home from the zoo the following day his mother told him gently that his dear grandfather had died in the night with his arms around him. A very special bond was broken – but Dad remained devoted to the memory of his blind grandfather throughout his life.

Dad’s second memory was of a night in his early teens when he was woken by loud screaming and the sound of breaking furniture. Fearfully he crept out of bed, and struggled downstairs. The screaming was his mother’s. Candles were the only form of lighting, so it was with some difficulty that he found his way to her bedroom. Suddenly, confronting him was his stepfather, breathing heavily and clearly the worse for drink.

‘What’s the matter, Georgie?’ came the harsh voice.

‘I heard Mum scream, and it frightened me,’ the boy said.

His stepfather replied, ‘Go to bed, George. Your mother is all right.’

The following day he found out that his older brother had also heard the screaming and had pulled their drunken stepfather off their mother, who had been savagely beaten. He in turn was practically strangled before Nell, one of the stepsisters, was able to rescue him. Mother, son and stepdaughter were thrust from the house and spent the remainder of the night at an uncle’s home. The battered face of his mother the following day told the sorry story of the power of drink in his stepfather’s life. Apparently he could be the most charming of men when sober, but rarely did my father talk of him. There was, however, no mistaking the depth of the love between my father and his mother. Although I have no recollection of her whatsoever, the fragrance of her presence was almost tangible in my father’s life. Few of us realise how lasting is the impact that such caring and close relationships have on our children.