To me it dosen't matter who is accepted into the Church of Christ. They get to write their rules of inclusion. The right they don't have is exclude those are not accepted,from the rights and privileges of the secular government. Keep your religion to yourself in public matters.
I think you’re arguing with someone else, not with me.
My article wasn’t about the state, public policy, or the civil rights of citizens. It was about how Christians think about inclusion within the Church.
You seem to be assuming that any discussion of Christian belief is automatically an attempt to impose those beliefs on wider society. That’s not an argument I made.
The real question raised by the article is whether the Church should be more inclusive, and on what basis. If you’d like to discuss that question, I’m happy to do so. But the relationship between Church membership and civil rights is a different conversation altogether.
It might be more accurate or fair to say that some ‘inclusive’ churches are exclusive as are some conservative churches.
Not a pox on us all...
Inclusion isn’t the word that ate the church. Inclusion as exclusive praxis has.
And many conservative churches aren’t friendly to everyone.
Also, Jason’s image of a t-shirt with a Pride flag gives me the idea that he may be thinking of inclusion solely in terms of sexuality.
I would describe myself as a Christian who prioritizes inclusion.
But I understand inclusion to be congruent with Benedict’s emphasis on hospitality:
“Omnes hospites qui veniunt tamquam Christus suscipiantur, quia ipse dicturus est: Hospes fui, et suscepistis me.”
Let all guests [strangers ξένος] that arrive be received like Christ, for he will say: I was a stranger, and you took me in.
I place great emphasis on “omnes” - All or “Ya’all.”
My issue with some, but not all, North American churches which describe themselves as inclusive is they are totally inclusive of a person (regardless of gender identity or or sexual orientation) as long as that individual has white skin, a university education, a good job, makes over $85,000 a year, is physically attractive, under 50, thin, healthy, and speaks English as a first language.
Some inclusive churches are elitist. They aren’t doing a very good job of welcoming people of color (Sunday morning has the most racially segregated hours of the week in America), people who lack a university education, people who work non-skilled jobs and don’t make much money, people who aren’t “beautiful” and young, people who suffer from addiction or mental illness, or people with disabilities.
Some conservative mega churches are the same.
James 2:1-5 is an indictment of these churches: My brothers and sisters, do not claim the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ of glory while showing partiality. For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here in a good place, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit by my footstool,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?
I love the language of the Authorized Version about the missional inclusion of the Church (as wedding banquet) seeking out people who are “damaged goods” - people who seem to have nothing to offer us but their unfulfilled needs, poverty and pain.
“Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind. And the servant said, Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room. And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.” (Luke 14:21-23)
In the pulpits of some inclusive churches I hear more politics and social activism than the Gospel.
In some churches there seems to be a shift replacing the Gospel with political and social activism which can be very legalistic - political correctness testing, accompanied by pronoun and speech policing (which makes these folks just as intolerant, militant, extreme, rigid and oppressive as the “conservative extremists” they condemn and demonize).
I remember a man -a “liturgy cop”- interrupting me during the Nicene Creed at a Sunday Eucharist, lecturing me that I should say “she” and not “he” when saying the creed.
“With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.”
I was simply, perhaps mindlessly, following along in my Prayer Book at an 8:00 A.M. service.
I am a politically progressive gay man, a seminary graduate with a decent grasp of Scripture.
πνεῦμα is a neuter noun - the Spirit lacks a penis or vagina, or a specific gender identity.
So, default liturgical use of “he” is just as inadequate as ”she.”
But because I was faithfully (and mindlessly) using the liturgical texts agreed upon and approved by the clergy and lay leaders of my church, he said I was “sexist, non-inclusive, intolerant, and oppressive to women.”
This is not my idea of full inclusion and hospitality.
This stridency can sometimes feel extremely exclusive and militant, as though there’s an elitist belief that THEIR way is the only path to truth. It’s like the old Gnostic idea of holding “secret knowledge” or wisdom that sets them apart, which creates a divide between those “in the know” and those “outside” - inclusion as exclusion.
On the flip side, extremely conservative churches sometimes veer off the guardrails into very rigid legalism, really emphasizing strict adherence to rules, especially about sex (Pelagian ideas about achieving righteousness through personal moral effort).
Inclusive churches can be Pelagian, too.
All of this morphs into a kind of arrogant, moral superiority where an emphasis on correctness and rule-following obscures the gentleness, grace and compassion at the heart of the Gospel.
To me, this is really a form of Manichaean dualism, where issues are painted in stark, black-and-white terms, which creates an “us-versus-them” mentality.
In seminary, we were told that these old heresies - Gnosticism, Pelagianism, Manichaeism - keep popping up like a Whack a Mole game (frequently accompanied by weird Christology, imbalanced pneumatology, and graceless soteriology) .
So, some churches see the world this way and get stuck in a mindless cycle of labeling, name calling, blaming, conflict, shaming and hostility.
In both extremes, the essence of the teachings of Jesus in the Gospel which are grounded in grace, love and mercy (which represent true inclusion) are being lost.
In the Baptismal Covenant of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer of The Episcopal Church we are called “to respect the dignity of every human being” and affirm our commitment to a life of service “seeking and serving Christ” in others and “striving for justice and peace.”
These ethical implications of the Gospel are great and imperative. This is extremely important to me as a gay man because I have faced exclusion and rejection by the church.
But many people give me a confused or strange (sometimes even hostile) look when I point out that the Baptismal service and Covenant begins with a firm rejection and renunciation of wickedness, corruption, evil, and sinful desires, and an affirmation and acceptance of Jesus Christ as Savior, and placing one’s whole trust in his grace and love.
Like a man in one of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, Mr. Head “had never known what mercy felt like because he had been too good to deserve any.”
Psychiatrist Karl Menninger was right to ask (in his 1973 book) “Whatever became of sin?”
The Baptismal Covenant is followed by an affirmation of the basic tenets of the Christian faith as expressed in the Apostles Creed.
If the mission of the church isn’t rooted in a wholistic understanding of the Gospel, we might as well stay home and in bed on Sunday mornings.
The word inclusion isn’t in the Bible. But the Bible is full of stories of hospitality and admonitions to be inclusive.
When it comes to hospitality in the Bible, here’s a breakdown of the Greek words used for welcoming, receiving, and accepting.
δέχομαι - Think of this as giving someone a warm “welcome.” It’s about greeting others with open arms and a positive vibe. It’s like inviting someone into your home and making them feel comfortable and valued.
παραλαμβάνω - This word is more about intentional “receiving” with intent, when you really take someone in, not just physically, but with genuine care, as if you’re saying, “You’re one of us now.”
ἀποδέχομαι - When you “accept” someone, you’re not just welcoming them in a surface way, you’re embracing them wholly, no matter who and what they are. It’s like saying, “I’m good with who you are and what you bring.” It’s a deeper acceptance, involving affection and approval. Of course, we can’t accept others if we don’t accept that we are accepted by God.
These inclusive actions apply to everyone - enemies, friends, strangers, outsiders, people most different from us, and people with whom we disagree.
True inclusion is welcoming everyone, receiving everyone and accepting everyone
As we say in the South, Ya’ll means Ya’ll.
Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.”
As I read it, I found myself agreeing with much of what you wrote. In particular, your observations about class, race, education, age, disability, addiction, and the many ways churches can quietly exclude people are important and well made.
What struck me, however, is that your response largely addresses a different question from the one I was attempting to raise.
My article was not arguing against inclusion. Nor was it primarily arguing that some inclusive churches are themselves exclusionary, although that can certainly be true.
Rather, I was asking what happens when inclusion is elevated from a Christian practice to a controlling moral principle.
Historically, Christianity has always been radically inclusive of people. Christ welcomes sinners, strangers, enemies, outcasts, and those who have nothing to offer in return. The Church has always been called to hospitality.
The question I was exploring was not whether we include, but what people are being included into.
For two millennia, Christian inclusion was ordered towards participation in Christ. Inclusion was not an end in itself. It was inclusion into a particular story of creation, fall, redemption, transformation, discipleship, holiness, communion, and ultimately participation in the life of God.
My concern was that in many contemporary discussions inclusion increasingly functions as a self-justifying moral good detached from that wider framework. Once that happens, inclusion itself becomes the organising principle, and the entire grammar of the gospel begins to shift.
That is a rather different concern from whether churches are welcoming enough, though I agree entirely that many churches fail badly on that front.
So I suspect we agree on more than we disagree. My article was not a critique of hospitality. It was an attempt to ask what vision of humanity, salvation, and discipleship lies beneath the particular forms of inclusion increasingly shaping both church and culture.
That feels much closer to the actual burden of your essay. The essay wasn’t about hospitality. It was about telos. It was about what has become the organising centre of the Christian story.
Thanks again for reading and taking the time to respond.
Dr. Clark, after I saw the photo you used for your Substack post, and read "How 'Inclusive' Church Excludes: The word that ate the Church” I was convinced your own τέλος (aim or goal) was homophobic exclusion. Your graphic and title (which came across as derogatory, hostile, hurtful, mocking and pejorative) are really incongruent with your wonderful, extensive comments. I don't think you meant that. But that's how it felt. I spoke with a another gay man (a Roman Catholic priest who read your post), and he had the same impression. This sort of thing is wounding to us. I think every church should be proud to be inclusive to mirror the βασιλεία of God. A church that only extends a specific invitation to LGBTQIA+ people (and not people who are poor, disabled, non-white, addicted, unlovely, etc.) is not truly inclusive, but merely a gay-friendly parish (usually a club or haven for posh, affluent, white, well-educated professionals with nice cars and flats). My inclusive vision of the church is "saints from every tribe and language and people and nation"(Rev 5:9), not just a safe place for gay people. I love 2 Esdras 2:42-47, the beautiful vision of Ezra: I Ezra, saw on Mount Zion a great multitude, which I could not number, and they all were praising the Lord with songs. In their midst was a young man of great stature, taller than any of the others, and on the head of each of them he placed a crown, but he was more exalted than they. And I was held spellbound. Then I asked an angel, “Who are these, my lord?” He answered and said to me, “These are they who have put off mortal clothing and have put on the immortal, and they have confessed the name of God; now they are being crowned, and receive palms. Then I said to the angel, “Who is that young man who places crowns on them and puts palms in their hands?” He answered and said to me, “He is the Son of God, whom they confessed in the world.” So I began to praise those who had stood valiantly for the name of the Lord. - This is sublime! Church as community of praise and thanksgiving under the cross (I heard John Stott use this imagery). It presents the faithful people of God in a way Christians can see as ecclesial, because the people are gathered around The Word λόγος in communion κοινωνία and vindicated by the Son of God. It also strongly resembles the vision of the redeemed multitude in Revelation 7 (which serves is the Epistle for All Saints Day in the 1662 BCP) - a countless, worshiping people, palms, vindication, and the Son of God Lamb at the center. The church is una, sancta, catholica et apostolica. The τέλος of the church’s, its ultimate purpose, includes drawing in and including all kinds of different redeemed and restored (to their original loveliness) people under God’s reign. The purpose of the church is to participate in God’s reign by worshiping God, embodying Christ, and gathering and including all people into communion with God and one another. St. Cyprian of Carthage said, "Habere non potest Deum patrem qui ecclesiam non habet matrem.” You cannot have God as father if the church isn't your mother.” - “But the Jerusalem above is free, and she is our mother.” (Galatians 4:26). All people in the church share the same father and mother, and are therefore siblings. So, why would a church not want to be inclusive? My point was that many, so-called, “inclusive" gay-friendly churches are actually extremely exclusive, intolerant, rigid, graceless, judgmental. I wish you had used a different word, or been more specific. The church by its nature is καθολικός inclusive and universal. A parish that embraces inclusivity for a select group (like LGBGTIA+ people) can be quite exclusive. I think we have a different understanding of "inclusive church.” Your pic with a Pride shirt and statement about "How 'Inclusive' Church Excludes: The word that ate the Church” don't seem to have anything to do with the inclusive essence of the church - esse (εἶναι to be, οὐσία being, essence, substance, what is necessary for the church to be), bene esse (εὐεξία what helps the church to be well), plene esse (what belongs to its fullness πλήρωμα, or complete realization). The τέλος or plene esse of the church is universal inclusion. “To unite all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.” (Ephesians 1:10). This means God’s purpose is to sum up, gather together, or bring into unity all creation in Christ (which “groans” Romans 8:22) by "bringing many sons -people- to glory” (Hebrews 2:10). Edward Schillebeeckx is known for the idea that Christ is the sacrament of God. This means that Jesus Christ is the visible, historical, embodied presence of the invisible God’s saving grace. So, Schillebeeckx calls Christ "the primordial sacrament" because in Jesus God becomes personally present. God’s grace isn't just spoken about, but made visible and effective, and the divine life is mediated in an incarnate and vulnerable, human life - God with skin, robed in flesh, dying on a cross. Because a sacrament is a visible sign that truly communicates what it signifies, for Schillebeeckx not only is Christ is the definitive sign and presence of God, but the expansive, inclusive, universal church continues Christ’s presence sacramentally in history. So,Inclusion is good, and Inclusive church is good.
One final clarification. I think we may be talking past one another, particularly regarding the image.
You continue to interpret both the image and the article through the lens of the Church’s universal call to welcome all people into communion with Christ. As I have already said, I have no disagreement with that vision. Indeed, I affirm it.
However, that was not the subject of my article.
The image was not chosen simply because it contained Pride imagery. It was chosen because of the words, concepts, and claims it contained, which embodied precisely the contemporary use of “inclusive” that I was examining. The image illustrated the argument of the article; it was not a commentary on LGBT people, nor a denial of the Church’s catholic vocation.
My concern was not inclusion in the sense you describe it. My concern was the way the word inclusive is often used today as a theological, ecclesial, and ideological marker, and how that usage can itself become exclusionary while remaining rhetorically beyond critique.
I suspect that distinction explains much of our disagreement.
In any event, I am grateful for the exchange and for the care with which you have engaged. I think we have both now had the opportunity to express our views fully.
Dr. Clark, thanks for your response. I interpreted the image and your statement about inclusion being the word that ate the church through the lens of years of religious homophobia. I know three other people who drew that conclusion.
Very interesting writing and many truths. I have always thought that the problem has always been the challenge of holding onto both the centrality of BOTH Incarnational theology and redemptive theology. We need both. The problem is once again the unhealthy extremes of a church that in my experience is often too focused on redemptive theology and too little Incarnational theology and as you write about inclusive church and I am thinking of the Epsicopal Church in the USA which often feels to be too focused on Incarnational theology and too little on Redemptive theology. The Anglican Church of which I am situation is supposed to be a both and church - but I think this has been eroded - and it was always so important to have Anglican liberals and catholics being one church with the evangelicals and the conservatives - where there as a commitment to love and be brothers and sisters when you do not agree or have varying ecclesiologies. It was a shame when this was lost in the ECUSA and Canadian Anglican Church when the conservatives and evangelicals felt they found no longer belong and formed a breakaway mission in the USA and Canada that has obvious let go of being ONE Church - and so now often you very liberal church focusing on Incarnational theology and no redemptive theology that meet your critique but you also now get very redemptively focused breakaway Anglican Churches with too little Incarnational theology that then become as you have said judgemental, angry, patriarchial and exclusive…. So this is a very real problem. I do believe a true Christian church that is missionally focused needs to hold the tension well between Incarnational theology and redemptive theology - and if we don’t balance these two core theologies it becomes impossible for the Church to be One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.
A "breakaway Anglican Church" is a misnomer and a misleading form of false advertising.
These schismatic, ecclesiastical bodies and groups may embrace aspects of Anglican theology and polity, but they are not members of the worldwide Anglican Communion.
Our Methodist friends embrace aspects of Anglican theology and polity, but they are not Anglicans.
An Anglican is a member of an Anglican or Episcopal church which shares in the Instruments of Communion of the Anglican Communion.
Being in communion with The Archbishop of Canterbury
Participation in The Lambeth Conference
Membership in The Anglican Consultative Council
The Primates’ Meeting.
The only “Continuing Anglican Church” has Archbishop of Canterbury Sarah Mullally as primus inter pares.
Others are former Anglicans.
Many people are Christians, including the former Anglicans you mentioned, but not all Christians are Anglicans. Peopler who abandon the Anglican Communion are no longer Anglicans.
Ian, thank you. There is much here that resonates with me, particularly your concern that distortions can emerge from either direction. I also share your sadness at the fragmentation of the Church. And the loss of spaces where people of quite different convictions remained committed to one another despite profound disagreement.
As I was reading your response, I found myself wondering whether the question for me is perhaps slightly different from how incarnation and redemption are balanced. Increasingly, I find myself drawn to the thought that both are ultimately ordered around participation in Christ. In that sense, incarnation and redemption are not so much two theological poles requiring equilibrium as two dimensions of the same divine movement by which God draws humanity into communion with himself.
Part of what has been occupying me recently is whether many of our contemporary debates are actually rooted in differing assumptions about what human beings are for. If our underlying anthropology is primarily expressive, incarnation can easily become affirmation, and inclusion can become the organising principle. But I also wonder whether some forms of conservative evangelicalism have inherited an equally modern anthropology, albeit one shaped less by self-expression and more by forensic categories.
You will know this far better than I do, but it sometimes seems to me that when justification becomes detached from participation, the Christian story can subtly narrow. The focus becomes salvation from rather than salvation into. Christ becomes principally the means by which we escape judgement or secure heaven, rather than the one in whom humanity is brought to its fulfilment. The result can be a rather thin account of human flourishing, where the central questions become belief, behaviour and destiny, while communion, transformation, desire, beauty, sacrament and participation become secondary concerns.
What I find compelling in the older participatory traditions is that they seem to offer a way beyond both distortions. They neither reduce salvation to affirmation nor to acquittal. Rather, they begin with the conviction that human beings are made for communion with God and that the Incarnation and redemption are both ordered towards that end. Sin is a rupture of participation; salvation is its restoration. Christ is not simply the answer to a problem but the fulfilment of humanity’s vocation.
That may simply be another way of describing the balance you are advocating, but I find myself increasingly wondering whether participation provides the deeper framework within which incarnation and redemption find their proper relationship. If so, perhaps the central question is not how we hold those two themes together, but how both remain ordered towards humanity’s participation in the life of God.
I suspect we may be describing similar concerns from slightly different starting points, but your comment certainly helped me clarify where my own thinking has been moving.
Thanks Jason, I think we are coming from a very similar place using different language but yes totally, and you are right that participation is how incarnation and redemption come together. Participation I think is still widely seen as an Eastern, mystic and contemplative conviction, I think largely because of the effect of Augustine and that line of thinking in the west who I still believe had a distorted view of the trinity as he worked in Latin and not in Greek and hence lost the dynamic nature of God as event as much as a being - and then the effects of the so called enlightenment and scientific rationalism of the west also did so much damage so we lost the more transcendent and sense of otherness and mystery which I think are essential to fully appreciate what participation means theologically, spiritually and importantly here, ecclesiologically. This is why being contemplative for me is the helpful corrective as it moves from the egoic false self to the true self which is all about the God who speaks from within and the path of surrender and participation…. So yep you have got me thinking too.
Ian, thank you. I suspect we are indeed describing many of the same realities from slightly different starting points.
I am not entirely persuaded that Augustine bears quite as much responsibility as is sometimes claimed, but I certainly share your concern that much of Western Christianity has struggled to retain a robust sense of mystery, transcendence, and participation.
What has struck me in recent years is that participation seems less and less like a niche mystical theme and more and more like the deep grammar of the Christian faith itself. Once participation moves to the centre, incarnation, redemption, discipleship, sacrament, ecclesiology, and even identity begin to fit together rather differently.
Which is perhaps why I keep finding myself returning to it. Beneath so many of our contemporary debates lies the deeper question of what human beings are for. If we are made for communion with God, then participation is not an optional extra. It is the very shape of salvation.
Thank you for helping sharpen my thinking. I’ve enjoyed the conversation!
Are you kidding? Churches already are inclusive for people and sins we are comfortable with. When did Christians decide to focus almost exclusively on gays and abortion and give a pass to greed, adultery, fornication, child neglect, and on and on? We actually admire the rich as a sign of God's favor. We overlook or joke about serial marriage, etc. People who feel they are good enough are comfortably saved because 'we're all sinners,' bot others -- not us -- need a lot of work.
I don’t disagree that churches have often been inconsistent and hypocritical. Christians have sometimes overlooked greed, pride, adultery, exploitation, and a host of other sins while focusing heavily on others.
But that isn’t really the argument of my article.
My point is that Christianity has always been radically inclusive of people and radically challenging of all of us. The answer to Christians overlooking some sins is not to stop calling anything sin. It is to recover a consistent vision in which every one of us is called to repentance and transformation.
The shift I am describing is from “all of us need transforming” to “some parts of me must never be questioned.”
Historically, Christianity assumed that every part of my life—my greed, pride, sexuality, ambition, anger, desires, and identity—was open to examination and transformation by Christ. The question was never which sins get a pass. The question was whether any part of the self lies beyond Christ’s transforming work.
Historically, Christianity answered “no.” That is the assumption I think we are abandoning, and it is that shift my article is exploring.
Sure. A lot of people are going to be uncomfortable if we try to re-emphasize that all are challenged, and not just a little bit. Your comments sounded, frankly, like a warning against the woo-woo. Well, there's a lot people have been encouraged to let slide. Btw, I live in the Bible Belt. There's a great deal of what sounds like 'Jesus is taking me to heaven 'cos I'm not gay.' when you can get saved with a prayer, it's not surprising that so many folks are so comfortable.
I may be missing something, but I’m not sure how you got from what I wrote to “a warning against the woo-woo.”
Could you point me to the part of the article that gave you that impression?
My article was focused on this: what happens when we move from “all of us need transforming” to “some parts of me must never be questioned.”
Whether churches have lived that out consistently is another matter. But that is the assumption I’m exploring, and again I’m not sure where in the article I argued against the “woo-woo.” Do show me that.
Inclusion being an empty word that lets in anything, but your examples were DEI and identity politics stuff ( you know, white politics are identity politics as as well). Be inclusive and you'll let in progressives.
I think you’re using “inclusion” in the procedural sense (“letting different people in”), whereas the article critiques inclusion as an ultimate moral principle.
Of course, every political movement has identities, interests and loyalties. In that sense, white politics, class politics, national politics and gender politics are all forms of identity politics.
The question isn’t whether identity exists. The question is what happens when identity becomes the primary moral lens through which society is interpreted.
Equally, no institution is infinitely inclusive. Every community has beliefs, values and boundaries. The interesting question is not whether we include, but who decides the terms of inclusion and what moral vision those terms serve.
The hidden move is to treat “inclusion” as a self-evident good rather than a contested moral value. Once that happens, anyone who questions the underlying anthropology, ontology, or moral framework can be portrayed not as disagreeing, but as being “against inclusion.” The debate is then won linguistically before it has even begun.
Yes, I agree with that analysis. I understand why people think change agents are at the door *and* why people feel the foundations are not firm as stated. We often tell the truths that comfort us.
This is brilliant! You’re spelling something out that I’ve been struggling with for years! I’m a gay Christian. I’m married to another Christian man. We arrived at our convictions through a long process of theological and personal wrestling before we entered into a covenanted relationship. And Im saying this as someone who is sharing your frustration: the worst affirming arguments are exactly the ones youre describing, namely, sin craftily being repackaged as “harm,” yet with zero clarification about who is getting to claim definition of ‘harm’. I feel like ive nearly worn my welcome out at our progressive church cuz of asking this question.
I’m curious though to press you on one thing. Your essay seems to pit wholesale affirmation against transformation (come as you are, you won’t stay as you are)… I agree on this! But personally I’d categorize a covenanted same-sex marriage on the transformation side of that line… rather than on the pseudo-gospel of ‘inclusivity’ side. Like you so wonderfully articulated, fidelity, self-giving, the constant daily surrendering of autonomy and self authorship are the demands of the gospel. I personally have zero doubts that gay people are called to those demands just like everyone else! We too… just like everyone… are to pick up our crosses and follow Christ! I think the real clincher is though, whether that transforming gospel call can take covenantal form for gay folks rather than only celibacy.
I see this as significantly different “affirming” argument than the silly claim of “love is love.” And I don’t think that this argument needs identity politics to be legitimate. This argument hinges on the historical distance between the biblical world’s categories and our own, and on the conviction that committed faithfulness can be a means of grace rather than a concession against it. I think this means discipleship gets nuanced to gay lives the same way the church already nuances it to straight folks. In my estimation that doesn’t fit in with the false soteriology you’ve diagnosed.
I’d love to know whether you see room for the distinction I’m describing or whether you’d file it under the same substitute gospel you’ve diagnosed. Either way, thank you for this! Youve given real language to something I’ve been struggling to name.
Thank you for such a thoughtful and gracious response.
I think the distinction you’re drawing is a real one, and an important one. My concern in the article was not primarily with sexuality, nor even with affirmation in the narrow sense. It was with a deeper anthropology that bypasses the question of givenness altogether.
What I was trying to challenge is the assumption that the self becomes the primary source of identity, meaning and moral authority, rather than receiving identity through participation in Christ.
What struck me in your comment was the language of wrestling, covenant, discipleship, surrender, fidelity, grace and following Jesus. Whether people ultimately agree or disagree with your conclusions, that is a very different conversation from the therapeutic logic I was critiquing in the article.
For me, the decisive question is always whether Christ remains free to challenge us, disrupt us, call us beyond ourselves, and ask of us things we would not naturally choose. The Christian life is not self-authorship but participation.
I suspect the specific question you’re raising about same-sex covenantal relationships deserves its own careful conversation, and probably more space than a comments thread can offer. But I do think the distinction you’re making between identity-based affirmation and a costly attempt to discern faithful discipleship is an important one.
Jason, thank you so much for taking the time to write this response and thoroughly interact with all I shared! I’ve been thinking lots about your essay and I just continue to feel very encouraged that the conversation is being had! In my estimation there’s a perplexing treasure trove to explore there. So keep it up!
I’ve tried to graciously express to some of my progressive friends that their adamant demands for moral purity on a whole litany of buzzy ‘TikTok/instagram’ social issues feels more consistent with my upbringing in IBLP (the Bill Gothard cult). Usually their eyebrows just tend to furrow as they glaze over in confusion and strongly contest, “yeah, well… the stakes are too high though!”.
It seems that fundamentalism has its own manifestations on the left as well as the right. It reminds me of Ken Ham stating that young earth creationism is absolutely worth dividing the church over. https://thenaturalhistorian.com/2026/03/15/ken-ham-i-am-willing-to-divide-the-church-over-this/ Christian fundamentalists on the Left just seem to trade one such moral litmus test out for another of post-colonialism, Queer theory and mutually hating Trump, J.K Rowling, and Joe Rogan. Neither side seems capable of admitting they’re the yings to the other’s yangs.
This pettiness certainly is most grievous when it deteriorates the fellowship of the saints though! Well, maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus! Nonetheless, I’d love to read your further related explorations on the topic!
Thanks, JB. The older I get, the more I suspect fundamentalism is less about what you believe and more about how you hold it. The doctrine, cause, or political issue can change completely, but the dynamics of certainty, purity, boundary-policing, and tribal belonging often look remarkably similar.
I’ve had similar conversations with progressive friends and usually get the same response: “Yes, but this issue is different because the stakes are so high.” Which, of course, is exactly what every fundamentalist movement in history has said about its own sacred causes.
For me, the deepest sadness is not the disagreements themselves but when they start to erode fellowship and our ability to see one another as brothers and sisters in Christ.
Anyway, thank you for such a thoughtful response and for engaging so generously. I agree that there’s a lot more to explore here yet!
I appreciate the sentiment - and the need for primary love - but this technically is not true. The story of the rich, young ruler in Mark 10 tells us that we too often balk at the criteria for belonging to/of Christ. Blessings.
“Jesus looked at him, and loved him ‘One thing you lack: Go your way, sell whatever you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross, and follow Me.” But he was sad at this word, and went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.” (Mark 10:21-22)
Thank you for reading and engaging. I’m not sure we disagree. The essay explicitly argues that inclusion is inclusion into Christ, which necessarily involves repentance, transformation, and participation in his life. The rich young ruler seems to illustrate exactly that: Jesus loves him, invites him, and calls him to costly discipleship. The question in the essay is not whether Christ makes demands of us, but what we are being included into.
The demand isn’t merely “costly”, it demands the abnegation of “self”. It’s also the most prolific invitation Jesus gives in the gospels. “Deny self, take up your cross (daily), and follow Me.” The distinction of “how costly” is precisely what many, including the rich, young, ruler, balked at… and so we do today. Blessings to you.
Yes indeed, participation in Christ requires our death and resurrection in him. Often, it is something some think he has done, and we do not need to enter into. As Martin Luther noted, Christians want to reach Easter Sunday without passing through Good Friday. Blessings.
But faith is a gift not something you can just choose by act of will. So Saint Thomas. Please include predestination in your calculus. Trent had to agree with Calvin that there are vessels of wrath. Frankly I think the whole discussion is literally absurd.
I agree that faith is a gift of grace and not something we simply produce by an act of will. But I don’t see how it follows that discussions about faith, inclusion, discipleship, or response are therefore absurd.
The logic seems to confuse God’s action with human responsibility. Scripture affirms both. Jesus calls people to repent. The apostles preach, persuade, teach, and exhort. The Church evangelises. None of this makes sense if divine initiative renders human response irrelevant.
Indeed, Aquinas argues that grace works through secondary causes rather than bypassing them. God’s sovereignty does not abolish human participation; it makes it possible.
Predestination may be part of the explanation for why people come to faith. It does not remove the need to consider how Christians should speak, act, welcome, disciple, and witness. Those questions remain regardless of where one lands on election.
So while I agree that grace comes first, I don’t think that makes the discussion absurd. It simply means the discussion takes place within a larger mystery.
Thank you for expressing what I have been thinking.
Recently, in response to hearing claims that the message of Jesus was merely love and acceptance, I searched the gospels to find the first recorded words of His ministry. In two of the gospels it was, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near," and another gospel records that Jesus entered the synagogue and read from the prophet Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.” We now know that this was speaking of freeing people from the bondage of their sin.
I appreciate your question, "What are we being invited into?"
When Jesus begins his ministry, the emphasis is not simply on acceptance but on invitation: " Repent, for the kingdom is near. And when he reads from Isaiah, it is about liberation—captives freed, the blind seeing, the oppressed released.
That is why I keep coming back to the question: what are we being invited into? The gospel is not merely an affirmation of who we are, but participation in the life and freedom of Christ.
Thank you for taking the time to read and feedback here.
You spend a lot of words avoiding the core issue, the heart of the gospel is grace. The most consistently recurring theme in the gospels is Jesus’ opposition to graceless theology. The book of James is used by some as purely a call to morality but the book doesn’t make sense without James 4:6 and 4:12. Self righteousness is every bit as big a sin as prostitution - that is literally in the gospels, but we protect, nourish and justify our self righteousness to the point where it replaces Christ as our God.
Thanks. I agree entirely that self-righteousness is one of the sins Jesus most consistently confronts, and that grace is at the heart of the gospel. My argument wasn’t intended to oppose grace to transformation, but to ask what grace includes us into. I would argue that grace is not only God’s welcome but God’s invitation into participation in Christ, which is why Jesus can welcome us completely and still call us to repentance and new life.
I think there’s also a difference between “inclusion” and “welcome”. Look at Jesus and Zacchaeus — Jesus sat and ate with him but if Zacchaeus had said “I’m keeping the cash”, I suspect Jesus would have had some things to say …
This is very affirming, to discover I'm not alone and to feel included in the body of Christ. Thank you.
Thanks, Fran, for reading and taking the time to comment
To me it dosen't matter who is accepted into the Church of Christ. They get to write their rules of inclusion. The right they don't have is exclude those are not accepted,from the rights and privileges of the secular government. Keep your religion to yourself in public matters.
I think you’re arguing with someone else, not with me.
My article wasn’t about the state, public policy, or the civil rights of citizens. It was about how Christians think about inclusion within the Church.
You seem to be assuming that any discussion of Christian belief is automatically an attempt to impose those beliefs on wider society. That’s not an argument I made.
The real question raised by the article is whether the Church should be more inclusive, and on what basis. If you’d like to discuss that question, I’m happy to do so. But the relationship between Church membership and civil rights is a different conversation altogether.
I wrote this response to your comments:
https://substack.com/@markinfrance/note/p-202128292?r=63r6zq&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web
It might be more accurate or fair to say that some ‘inclusive’ churches are exclusive as are some conservative churches.
Not a pox on us all...
Inclusion isn’t the word that ate the church. Inclusion as exclusive praxis has.
And many conservative churches aren’t friendly to everyone.
Also, Jason’s image of a t-shirt with a Pride flag gives me the idea that he may be thinking of inclusion solely in terms of sexuality.
I would describe myself as a Christian who prioritizes inclusion.
But I understand inclusion to be congruent with Benedict’s emphasis on hospitality:
“Omnes hospites qui veniunt tamquam Christus suscipiantur, quia ipse dicturus est: Hospes fui, et suscepistis me.”
Let all guests [strangers ξένος] that arrive be received like Christ, for he will say: I was a stranger, and you took me in.
I place great emphasis on “omnes” - All or “Ya’all.”
My issue with some, but not all, North American churches which describe themselves as inclusive is they are totally inclusive of a person (regardless of gender identity or or sexual orientation) as long as that individual has white skin, a university education, a good job, makes over $85,000 a year, is physically attractive, under 50, thin, healthy, and speaks English as a first language.
Some inclusive churches are elitist. They aren’t doing a very good job of welcoming people of color (Sunday morning has the most racially segregated hours of the week in America), people who lack a university education, people who work non-skilled jobs and don’t make much money, people who aren’t “beautiful” and young, people who suffer from addiction or mental illness, or people with disabilities.
Some conservative mega churches are the same.
James 2:1-5 is an indictment of these churches: My brothers and sisters, do not claim the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ of glory while showing partiality. For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here in a good place, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit by my footstool,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?
I love the language of the Authorized Version about the missional inclusion of the Church (as wedding banquet) seeking out people who are “damaged goods” - people who seem to have nothing to offer us but their unfulfilled needs, poverty and pain.
“Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind. And the servant said, Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room. And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.” (Luke 14:21-23)
In the pulpits of some inclusive churches I hear more politics and social activism than the Gospel.
In some churches there seems to be a shift replacing the Gospel with political and social activism which can be very legalistic - political correctness testing, accompanied by pronoun and speech policing (which makes these folks just as intolerant, militant, extreme, rigid and oppressive as the “conservative extremists” they condemn and demonize).
I remember a man -a “liturgy cop”- interrupting me during the Nicene Creed at a Sunday Eucharist, lecturing me that I should say “she” and not “he” when saying the creed.
“With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.”
I was simply, perhaps mindlessly, following along in my Prayer Book at an 8:00 A.M. service.
I am a politically progressive gay man, a seminary graduate with a decent grasp of Scripture.
πνεῦμα is a neuter noun - the Spirit lacks a penis or vagina, or a specific gender identity.
So, default liturgical use of “he” is just as inadequate as ”she.”
But because I was faithfully (and mindlessly) using the liturgical texts agreed upon and approved by the clergy and lay leaders of my church, he said I was “sexist, non-inclusive, intolerant, and oppressive to women.”
This is not my idea of full inclusion and hospitality.
This stridency can sometimes feel extremely exclusive and militant, as though there’s an elitist belief that THEIR way is the only path to truth. It’s like the old Gnostic idea of holding “secret knowledge” or wisdom that sets them apart, which creates a divide between those “in the know” and those “outside” - inclusion as exclusion.
On the flip side, extremely conservative churches sometimes veer off the guardrails into very rigid legalism, really emphasizing strict adherence to rules, especially about sex (Pelagian ideas about achieving righteousness through personal moral effort).
Inclusive churches can be Pelagian, too.
All of this morphs into a kind of arrogant, moral superiority where an emphasis on correctness and rule-following obscures the gentleness, grace and compassion at the heart of the Gospel.
To me, this is really a form of Manichaean dualism, where issues are painted in stark, black-and-white terms, which creates an “us-versus-them” mentality.
In seminary, we were told that these old heresies - Gnosticism, Pelagianism, Manichaeism - keep popping up like a Whack a Mole game (frequently accompanied by weird Christology, imbalanced pneumatology, and graceless soteriology) .
So, some churches see the world this way and get stuck in a mindless cycle of labeling, name calling, blaming, conflict, shaming and hostility.
In both extremes, the essence of the teachings of Jesus in the Gospel which are grounded in grace, love and mercy (which represent true inclusion) are being lost.
In the Baptismal Covenant of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer of The Episcopal Church we are called “to respect the dignity of every human being” and affirm our commitment to a life of service “seeking and serving Christ” in others and “striving for justice and peace.”
These ethical implications of the Gospel are great and imperative. This is extremely important to me as a gay man because I have faced exclusion and rejection by the church.
But many people give me a confused or strange (sometimes even hostile) look when I point out that the Baptismal service and Covenant begins with a firm rejection and renunciation of wickedness, corruption, evil, and sinful desires, and an affirmation and acceptance of Jesus Christ as Savior, and placing one’s whole trust in his grace and love.
Like a man in one of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, Mr. Head “had never known what mercy felt like because he had been too good to deserve any.”
Psychiatrist Karl Menninger was right to ask (in his 1973 book) “Whatever became of sin?”
The Baptismal Covenant is followed by an affirmation of the basic tenets of the Christian faith as expressed in the Apostles Creed.
If the mission of the church isn’t rooted in a wholistic understanding of the Gospel, we might as well stay home and in bed on Sunday mornings.
The word inclusion isn’t in the Bible. But the Bible is full of stories of hospitality and admonitions to be inclusive.
When it comes to hospitality in the Bible, here’s a breakdown of the Greek words used for welcoming, receiving, and accepting.
δέχομαι - Think of this as giving someone a warm “welcome.” It’s about greeting others with open arms and a positive vibe. It’s like inviting someone into your home and making them feel comfortable and valued.
παραλαμβάνω - This word is more about intentional “receiving” with intent, when you really take someone in, not just physically, but with genuine care, as if you’re saying, “You’re one of us now.”
ἀποδέχομαι - When you “accept” someone, you’re not just welcoming them in a surface way, you’re embracing them wholly, no matter who and what they are. It’s like saying, “I’m good with who you are and what you bring.” It’s a deeper acceptance, involving affection and approval. Of course, we can’t accept others if we don’t accept that we are accepted by God.
These inclusive actions apply to everyone - enemies, friends, strangers, outsiders, people most different from us, and people with whom we disagree.
True inclusion is welcoming everyone, receiving everyone and accepting everyone
As we say in the South, Ya’ll means Ya’ll.
Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.”
Mark, thank you for such a thoughtful response.
As I read it, I found myself agreeing with much of what you wrote. In particular, your observations about class, race, education, age, disability, addiction, and the many ways churches can quietly exclude people are important and well made.
What struck me, however, is that your response largely addresses a different question from the one I was attempting to raise.
My article was not arguing against inclusion. Nor was it primarily arguing that some inclusive churches are themselves exclusionary, although that can certainly be true.
Rather, I was asking what happens when inclusion is elevated from a Christian practice to a controlling moral principle.
Historically, Christianity has always been radically inclusive of people. Christ welcomes sinners, strangers, enemies, outcasts, and those who have nothing to offer in return. The Church has always been called to hospitality.
The question I was exploring was not whether we include, but what people are being included into.
For two millennia, Christian inclusion was ordered towards participation in Christ. Inclusion was not an end in itself. It was inclusion into a particular story of creation, fall, redemption, transformation, discipleship, holiness, communion, and ultimately participation in the life of God.
My concern was that in many contemporary discussions inclusion increasingly functions as a self-justifying moral good detached from that wider framework. Once that happens, inclusion itself becomes the organising principle, and the entire grammar of the gospel begins to shift.
That is a rather different concern from whether churches are welcoming enough, though I agree entirely that many churches fail badly on that front.
So I suspect we agree on more than we disagree. My article was not a critique of hospitality. It was an attempt to ask what vision of humanity, salvation, and discipleship lies beneath the particular forms of inclusion increasingly shaping both church and culture.
That feels much closer to the actual burden of your essay. The essay wasn’t about hospitality. It was about telos. It was about what has become the organising centre of the Christian story.
Thanks again for reading and taking the time to respond.
Dr. Clark, after I saw the photo you used for your Substack post, and read "How 'Inclusive' Church Excludes: The word that ate the Church” I was convinced your own τέλος (aim or goal) was homophobic exclusion. Your graphic and title (which came across as derogatory, hostile, hurtful, mocking and pejorative) are really incongruent with your wonderful, extensive comments. I don't think you meant that. But that's how it felt. I spoke with a another gay man (a Roman Catholic priest who read your post), and he had the same impression. This sort of thing is wounding to us. I think every church should be proud to be inclusive to mirror the βασιλεία of God. A church that only extends a specific invitation to LGBTQIA+ people (and not people who are poor, disabled, non-white, addicted, unlovely, etc.) is not truly inclusive, but merely a gay-friendly parish (usually a club or haven for posh, affluent, white, well-educated professionals with nice cars and flats). My inclusive vision of the church is "saints from every tribe and language and people and nation"(Rev 5:9), not just a safe place for gay people. I love 2 Esdras 2:42-47, the beautiful vision of Ezra: I Ezra, saw on Mount Zion a great multitude, which I could not number, and they all were praising the Lord with songs. In their midst was a young man of great stature, taller than any of the others, and on the head of each of them he placed a crown, but he was more exalted than they. And I was held spellbound. Then I asked an angel, “Who are these, my lord?” He answered and said to me, “These are they who have put off mortal clothing and have put on the immortal, and they have confessed the name of God; now they are being crowned, and receive palms. Then I said to the angel, “Who is that young man who places crowns on them and puts palms in their hands?” He answered and said to me, “He is the Son of God, whom they confessed in the world.” So I began to praise those who had stood valiantly for the name of the Lord. - This is sublime! Church as community of praise and thanksgiving under the cross (I heard John Stott use this imagery). It presents the faithful people of God in a way Christians can see as ecclesial, because the people are gathered around The Word λόγος in communion κοινωνία and vindicated by the Son of God. It also strongly resembles the vision of the redeemed multitude in Revelation 7 (which serves is the Epistle for All Saints Day in the 1662 BCP) - a countless, worshiping people, palms, vindication, and the Son of God Lamb at the center. The church is una, sancta, catholica et apostolica. The τέλος of the church’s, its ultimate purpose, includes drawing in and including all kinds of different redeemed and restored (to their original loveliness) people under God’s reign. The purpose of the church is to participate in God’s reign by worshiping God, embodying Christ, and gathering and including all people into communion with God and one another. St. Cyprian of Carthage said, "Habere non potest Deum patrem qui ecclesiam non habet matrem.” You cannot have God as father if the church isn't your mother.” - “But the Jerusalem above is free, and she is our mother.” (Galatians 4:26). All people in the church share the same father and mother, and are therefore siblings. So, why would a church not want to be inclusive? My point was that many, so-called, “inclusive" gay-friendly churches are actually extremely exclusive, intolerant, rigid, graceless, judgmental. I wish you had used a different word, or been more specific. The church by its nature is καθολικός inclusive and universal. A parish that embraces inclusivity for a select group (like LGBGTIA+ people) can be quite exclusive. I think we have a different understanding of "inclusive church.” Your pic with a Pride shirt and statement about "How 'Inclusive' Church Excludes: The word that ate the Church” don't seem to have anything to do with the inclusive essence of the church - esse (εἶναι to be, οὐσία being, essence, substance, what is necessary for the church to be), bene esse (εὐεξία what helps the church to be well), plene esse (what belongs to its fullness πλήρωμα, or complete realization). The τέλος or plene esse of the church is universal inclusion. “To unite all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.” (Ephesians 1:10). This means God’s purpose is to sum up, gather together, or bring into unity all creation in Christ (which “groans” Romans 8:22) by "bringing many sons -people- to glory” (Hebrews 2:10). Edward Schillebeeckx is known for the idea that Christ is the sacrament of God. This means that Jesus Christ is the visible, historical, embodied presence of the invisible God’s saving grace. So, Schillebeeckx calls Christ "the primordial sacrament" because in Jesus God becomes personally present. God’s grace isn't just spoken about, but made visible and effective, and the divine life is mediated in an incarnate and vulnerable, human life - God with skin, robed in flesh, dying on a cross. Because a sacrament is a visible sign that truly communicates what it signifies, for Schillebeeckx not only is Christ is the definitive sign and presence of God, but the expansive, inclusive, universal church continues Christ’s presence sacramentally in history. So,Inclusion is good, and Inclusive church is good.
Mark,
Thank you again for your reflections.
One final clarification. I think we may be talking past one another, particularly regarding the image.
You continue to interpret both the image and the article through the lens of the Church’s universal call to welcome all people into communion with Christ. As I have already said, I have no disagreement with that vision. Indeed, I affirm it.
However, that was not the subject of my article.
The image was not chosen simply because it contained Pride imagery. It was chosen because of the words, concepts, and claims it contained, which embodied precisely the contemporary use of “inclusive” that I was examining. The image illustrated the argument of the article; it was not a commentary on LGBT people, nor a denial of the Church’s catholic vocation.
My concern was not inclusion in the sense you describe it. My concern was the way the word inclusive is often used today as a theological, ecclesial, and ideological marker, and how that usage can itself become exclusionary while remaining rhetorically beyond critique.
I suspect that distinction explains much of our disagreement.
In any event, I am grateful for the exchange and for the care with which you have engaged. I think we have both now had the opportunity to express our views fully.
Grace and peace,
Jason
Dr. Clark, thanks for your response. I interpreted the image and your statement about inclusion being the word that ate the church through the lens of years of religious homophobia. I know three other people who drew that conclusion.
Very interesting writing and many truths. I have always thought that the problem has always been the challenge of holding onto both the centrality of BOTH Incarnational theology and redemptive theology. We need both. The problem is once again the unhealthy extremes of a church that in my experience is often too focused on redemptive theology and too little Incarnational theology and as you write about inclusive church and I am thinking of the Epsicopal Church in the USA which often feels to be too focused on Incarnational theology and too little on Redemptive theology. The Anglican Church of which I am situation is supposed to be a both and church - but I think this has been eroded - and it was always so important to have Anglican liberals and catholics being one church with the evangelicals and the conservatives - where there as a commitment to love and be brothers and sisters when you do not agree or have varying ecclesiologies. It was a shame when this was lost in the ECUSA and Canadian Anglican Church when the conservatives and evangelicals felt they found no longer belong and formed a breakaway mission in the USA and Canada that has obvious let go of being ONE Church - and so now often you very liberal church focusing on Incarnational theology and no redemptive theology that meet your critique but you also now get very redemptively focused breakaway Anglican Churches with too little Incarnational theology that then become as you have said judgemental, angry, patriarchial and exclusive…. So this is a very real problem. I do believe a true Christian church that is missionally focused needs to hold the tension well between Incarnational theology and redemptive theology - and if we don’t balance these two core theologies it becomes impossible for the Church to be One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.
A "breakaway Anglican Church" is a misnomer and a misleading form of false advertising.
These schismatic, ecclesiastical bodies and groups may embrace aspects of Anglican theology and polity, but they are not members of the worldwide Anglican Communion.
Our Methodist friends embrace aspects of Anglican theology and polity, but they are not Anglicans.
An Anglican is a member of an Anglican or Episcopal church which shares in the Instruments of Communion of the Anglican Communion.
Being in communion with The Archbishop of Canterbury
Participation in The Lambeth Conference
Membership in The Anglican Consultative Council
The Primates’ Meeting.
The only “Continuing Anglican Church” has Archbishop of Canterbury Sarah Mullally as primus inter pares.
Others are former Anglicans.
Many people are Christians, including the former Anglicans you mentioned, but not all Christians are Anglicans. Peopler who abandon the Anglican Communion are no longer Anglicans.
Ian, thank you. There is much here that resonates with me, particularly your concern that distortions can emerge from either direction. I also share your sadness at the fragmentation of the Church. And the loss of spaces where people of quite different convictions remained committed to one another despite profound disagreement.
As I was reading your response, I found myself wondering whether the question for me is perhaps slightly different from how incarnation and redemption are balanced. Increasingly, I find myself drawn to the thought that both are ultimately ordered around participation in Christ. In that sense, incarnation and redemption are not so much two theological poles requiring equilibrium as two dimensions of the same divine movement by which God draws humanity into communion with himself.
Part of what has been occupying me recently is whether many of our contemporary debates are actually rooted in differing assumptions about what human beings are for. If our underlying anthropology is primarily expressive, incarnation can easily become affirmation, and inclusion can become the organising principle. But I also wonder whether some forms of conservative evangelicalism have inherited an equally modern anthropology, albeit one shaped less by self-expression and more by forensic categories.
You will know this far better than I do, but it sometimes seems to me that when justification becomes detached from participation, the Christian story can subtly narrow. The focus becomes salvation from rather than salvation into. Christ becomes principally the means by which we escape judgement or secure heaven, rather than the one in whom humanity is brought to its fulfilment. The result can be a rather thin account of human flourishing, where the central questions become belief, behaviour and destiny, while communion, transformation, desire, beauty, sacrament and participation become secondary concerns.
What I find compelling in the older participatory traditions is that they seem to offer a way beyond both distortions. They neither reduce salvation to affirmation nor to acquittal. Rather, they begin with the conviction that human beings are made for communion with God and that the Incarnation and redemption are both ordered towards that end. Sin is a rupture of participation; salvation is its restoration. Christ is not simply the answer to a problem but the fulfilment of humanity’s vocation.
That may simply be another way of describing the balance you are advocating, but I find myself increasingly wondering whether participation provides the deeper framework within which incarnation and redemption find their proper relationship. If so, perhaps the central question is not how we hold those two themes together, but how both remain ordered towards humanity’s participation in the life of God.
I suspect we may be describing similar concerns from slightly different starting points, but your comment certainly helped me clarify where my own thinking has been moving.
Thanks for taking the time to read and comment!
Thanks Jason, I think we are coming from a very similar place using different language but yes totally, and you are right that participation is how incarnation and redemption come together. Participation I think is still widely seen as an Eastern, mystic and contemplative conviction, I think largely because of the effect of Augustine and that line of thinking in the west who I still believe had a distorted view of the trinity as he worked in Latin and not in Greek and hence lost the dynamic nature of God as event as much as a being - and then the effects of the so called enlightenment and scientific rationalism of the west also did so much damage so we lost the more transcendent and sense of otherness and mystery which I think are essential to fully appreciate what participation means theologically, spiritually and importantly here, ecclesiologically. This is why being contemplative for me is the helpful corrective as it moves from the egoic false self to the true self which is all about the God who speaks from within and the path of surrender and participation…. So yep you have got me thinking too.
Ian, thank you. I suspect we are indeed describing many of the same realities from slightly different starting points.
I am not entirely persuaded that Augustine bears quite as much responsibility as is sometimes claimed, but I certainly share your concern that much of Western Christianity has struggled to retain a robust sense of mystery, transcendence, and participation.
What has struck me in recent years is that participation seems less and less like a niche mystical theme and more and more like the deep grammar of the Christian faith itself. Once participation moves to the centre, incarnation, redemption, discipleship, sacrament, ecclesiology, and even identity begin to fit together rather differently.
Which is perhaps why I keep finding myself returning to it. Beneath so many of our contemporary debates lies the deeper question of what human beings are for. If we are made for communion with God, then participation is not an optional extra. It is the very shape of salvation.
Thank you for helping sharpen my thinking. I’ve enjoyed the conversation!
Yes, Jesus loves you just as you are. He loves you too much to LEAVE you as you are.
Amen
Very thought provoking. What is it we are inviting people to as the Church today.
Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment
God loves you exactly as you are.
And God loves you too much to let you stay that way.
I don't know who said that (probably someone's grandmother), but I think it's exactly what you're saying about welcome and transformation.
I like that version, amen.
Are you kidding? Churches already are inclusive for people and sins we are comfortable with. When did Christians decide to focus almost exclusively on gays and abortion and give a pass to greed, adultery, fornication, child neglect, and on and on? We actually admire the rich as a sign of God's favor. We overlook or joke about serial marriage, etc. People who feel they are good enough are comfortably saved because 'we're all sinners,' bot others -- not us -- need a lot of work.
I don’t disagree that churches have often been inconsistent and hypocritical. Christians have sometimes overlooked greed, pride, adultery, exploitation, and a host of other sins while focusing heavily on others.
But that isn’t really the argument of my article.
My point is that Christianity has always been radically inclusive of people and radically challenging of all of us. The answer to Christians overlooking some sins is not to stop calling anything sin. It is to recover a consistent vision in which every one of us is called to repentance and transformation.
The shift I am describing is from “all of us need transforming” to “some parts of me must never be questioned.”
Historically, Christianity assumed that every part of my life—my greed, pride, sexuality, ambition, anger, desires, and identity—was open to examination and transformation by Christ. The question was never which sins get a pass. The question was whether any part of the self lies beyond Christ’s transforming work.
Historically, Christianity answered “no.” That is the assumption I think we are abandoning, and it is that shift my article is exploring.
Sure. A lot of people are going to be uncomfortable if we try to re-emphasize that all are challenged, and not just a little bit. Your comments sounded, frankly, like a warning against the woo-woo. Well, there's a lot people have been encouraged to let slide. Btw, I live in the Bible Belt. There's a great deal of what sounds like 'Jesus is taking me to heaven 'cos I'm not gay.' when you can get saved with a prayer, it's not surprising that so many folks are so comfortable.
I may be missing something, but I’m not sure how you got from what I wrote to “a warning against the woo-woo.”
Could you point me to the part of the article that gave you that impression?
My article was focused on this: what happens when we move from “all of us need transforming” to “some parts of me must never be questioned.”
Whether churches have lived that out consistently is another matter. But that is the assumption I’m exploring, and again I’m not sure where in the article I argued against the “woo-woo.” Do show me that.
Please accept my apologies for bothering you.
Not at all...it teases out the article for us all :-)
Inclusion being an empty word that lets in anything, but your examples were DEI and identity politics stuff ( you know, white politics are identity politics as as well). Be inclusive and you'll let in progressives.
I think you’re using “inclusion” in the procedural sense (“letting different people in”), whereas the article critiques inclusion as an ultimate moral principle.
Of course, every political movement has identities, interests and loyalties. In that sense, white politics, class politics, national politics and gender politics are all forms of identity politics.
The question isn’t whether identity exists. The question is what happens when identity becomes the primary moral lens through which society is interpreted.
Equally, no institution is infinitely inclusive. Every community has beliefs, values and boundaries. The interesting question is not whether we include, but who decides the terms of inclusion and what moral vision those terms serve.
The hidden move is to treat “inclusion” as a self-evident good rather than a contested moral value. Once that happens, anyone who questions the underlying anthropology, ontology, or moral framework can be portrayed not as disagreeing, but as being “against inclusion.” The debate is then won linguistically before it has even begun.
Yes, I agree with that analysis. I understand why people think change agents are at the door *and* why people feel the foundations are not firm as stated. We often tell the truths that comfort us.
We make the word inclusion bear way too much weight, I think.
Indeed, we do!
This is brilliant! You’re spelling something out that I’ve been struggling with for years! I’m a gay Christian. I’m married to another Christian man. We arrived at our convictions through a long process of theological and personal wrestling before we entered into a covenanted relationship. And Im saying this as someone who is sharing your frustration: the worst affirming arguments are exactly the ones youre describing, namely, sin craftily being repackaged as “harm,” yet with zero clarification about who is getting to claim definition of ‘harm’. I feel like ive nearly worn my welcome out at our progressive church cuz of asking this question.
I’m curious though to press you on one thing. Your essay seems to pit wholesale affirmation against transformation (come as you are, you won’t stay as you are)… I agree on this! But personally I’d categorize a covenanted same-sex marriage on the transformation side of that line… rather than on the pseudo-gospel of ‘inclusivity’ side. Like you so wonderfully articulated, fidelity, self-giving, the constant daily surrendering of autonomy and self authorship are the demands of the gospel. I personally have zero doubts that gay people are called to those demands just like everyone else! We too… just like everyone… are to pick up our crosses and follow Christ! I think the real clincher is though, whether that transforming gospel call can take covenantal form for gay folks rather than only celibacy.
I see this as significantly different “affirming” argument than the silly claim of “love is love.” And I don’t think that this argument needs identity politics to be legitimate. This argument hinges on the historical distance between the biblical world’s categories and our own, and on the conviction that committed faithfulness can be a means of grace rather than a concession against it. I think this means discipleship gets nuanced to gay lives the same way the church already nuances it to straight folks. In my estimation that doesn’t fit in with the false soteriology you’ve diagnosed.
I’d love to know whether you see room for the distinction I’m describing or whether you’d file it under the same substitute gospel you’ve diagnosed. Either way, thank you for this! Youve given real language to something I’ve been struggling to name.
Thank you for such a thoughtful and gracious response.
I think the distinction you’re drawing is a real one, and an important one. My concern in the article was not primarily with sexuality, nor even with affirmation in the narrow sense. It was with a deeper anthropology that bypasses the question of givenness altogether.
What I was trying to challenge is the assumption that the self becomes the primary source of identity, meaning and moral authority, rather than receiving identity through participation in Christ.
What struck me in your comment was the language of wrestling, covenant, discipleship, surrender, fidelity, grace and following Jesus. Whether people ultimately agree or disagree with your conclusions, that is a very different conversation from the therapeutic logic I was critiquing in the article.
For me, the decisive question is always whether Christ remains free to challenge us, disrupt us, call us beyond ourselves, and ask of us things we would not naturally choose. The Christian life is not self-authorship but participation.
I suspect the specific question you’re raising about same-sex covenantal relationships deserves its own careful conversation, and probably more space than a comments thread can offer. But I do think the distinction you’re making between identity-based affirmation and a costly attempt to discern faithful discipleship is an important one.
Thank you again for engaging so thoughtfully.
Jason, thank you so much for taking the time to write this response and thoroughly interact with all I shared! I’ve been thinking lots about your essay and I just continue to feel very encouraged that the conversation is being had! In my estimation there’s a perplexing treasure trove to explore there. So keep it up!
I’ve tried to graciously express to some of my progressive friends that their adamant demands for moral purity on a whole litany of buzzy ‘TikTok/instagram’ social issues feels more consistent with my upbringing in IBLP (the Bill Gothard cult). Usually their eyebrows just tend to furrow as they glaze over in confusion and strongly contest, “yeah, well… the stakes are too high though!”.
It seems that fundamentalism has its own manifestations on the left as well as the right. It reminds me of Ken Ham stating that young earth creationism is absolutely worth dividing the church over. https://thenaturalhistorian.com/2026/03/15/ken-ham-i-am-willing-to-divide-the-church-over-this/ Christian fundamentalists on the Left just seem to trade one such moral litmus test out for another of post-colonialism, Queer theory and mutually hating Trump, J.K Rowling, and Joe Rogan. Neither side seems capable of admitting they’re the yings to the other’s yangs.
This pettiness certainly is most grievous when it deteriorates the fellowship of the saints though! Well, maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus! Nonetheless, I’d love to read your further related explorations on the topic!
Thanks, JB. The older I get, the more I suspect fundamentalism is less about what you believe and more about how you hold it. The doctrine, cause, or political issue can change completely, but the dynamics of certainty, purity, boundary-policing, and tribal belonging often look remarkably similar.
I’ve had similar conversations with progressive friends and usually get the same response: “Yes, but this issue is different because the stakes are so high.” Which, of course, is exactly what every fundamentalist movement in history has said about its own sacred causes.
For me, the deepest sadness is not the disagreements themselves but when they start to erode fellowship and our ability to see one another as brothers and sisters in Christ.
Anyway, thank you for such a thoughtful response and for engaging so generously. I agree that there’s a lot more to explore here yet!
I appreciate the sentiment - and the need for primary love - but this technically is not true. The story of the rich, young ruler in Mark 10 tells us that we too often balk at the criteria for belonging to/of Christ. Blessings.
“Jesus looked at him, and loved him ‘One thing you lack: Go your way, sell whatever you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross, and follow Me.” But he was sad at this word, and went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.” (Mark 10:21-22)
Thank you for reading and engaging. I’m not sure we disagree. The essay explicitly argues that inclusion is inclusion into Christ, which necessarily involves repentance, transformation, and participation in his life. The rich young ruler seems to illustrate exactly that: Jesus loves him, invites him, and calls him to costly discipleship. The question in the essay is not whether Christ makes demands of us, but what we are being included into.
The demand isn’t merely “costly”, it demands the abnegation of “self”. It’s also the most prolific invitation Jesus gives in the gospels. “Deny self, take up your cross (daily), and follow Me.” The distinction of “how costly” is precisely what many, including the rich, young, ruler, balked at… and so we do today. Blessings to you.
Yes indeed, participation in Christ requires our death and resurrection in him. Often, it is something some think he has done, and we do not need to enter into. As Martin Luther noted, Christians want to reach Easter Sunday without passing through Good Friday. Blessings.
I love your incarnational emphasis on trusting the crucifying work of Jesus. Blessings.
And you! Thanks again for reading and conversation.
But faith is a gift not something you can just choose by act of will. So Saint Thomas. Please include predestination in your calculus. Trent had to agree with Calvin that there are vessels of wrath. Frankly I think the whole discussion is literally absurd.
I agree that faith is a gift of grace and not something we simply produce by an act of will. But I don’t see how it follows that discussions about faith, inclusion, discipleship, or response are therefore absurd.
The logic seems to confuse God’s action with human responsibility. Scripture affirms both. Jesus calls people to repent. The apostles preach, persuade, teach, and exhort. The Church evangelises. None of this makes sense if divine initiative renders human response irrelevant.
Indeed, Aquinas argues that grace works through secondary causes rather than bypassing them. God’s sovereignty does not abolish human participation; it makes it possible.
Predestination may be part of the explanation for why people come to faith. It does not remove the need to consider how Christians should speak, act, welcome, disciple, and witness. Those questions remain regardless of where one lands on election.
So while I agree that grace comes first, I don’t think that makes the discussion absurd. It simply means the discussion takes place within a larger mystery.
Thank you for expressing what I have been thinking.
Recently, in response to hearing claims that the message of Jesus was merely love and acceptance, I searched the gospels to find the first recorded words of His ministry. In two of the gospels it was, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near," and another gospel records that Jesus entered the synagogue and read from the prophet Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.” We now know that this was speaking of freeing people from the bondage of their sin.
I appreciate your question, "What are we being invited into?"
When Jesus begins his ministry, the emphasis is not simply on acceptance but on invitation: " Repent, for the kingdom is near. And when he reads from Isaiah, it is about liberation—captives freed, the blind seeing, the oppressed released.
That is why I keep coming back to the question: what are we being invited into? The gospel is not merely an affirmation of who we are, but participation in the life and freedom of Christ.
Thank you for taking the time to read and feedback here.
You spend a lot of words avoiding the core issue, the heart of the gospel is grace. The most consistently recurring theme in the gospels is Jesus’ opposition to graceless theology. The book of James is used by some as purely a call to morality but the book doesn’t make sense without James 4:6 and 4:12. Self righteousness is every bit as big a sin as prostitution - that is literally in the gospels, but we protect, nourish and justify our self righteousness to the point where it replaces Christ as our God.
Thanks. I agree entirely that self-righteousness is one of the sins Jesus most consistently confronts, and that grace is at the heart of the gospel. My argument wasn’t intended to oppose grace to transformation, but to ask what grace includes us into. I would argue that grace is not only God’s welcome but God’s invitation into participation in Christ, which is why Jesus can welcome us completely and still call us to repentance and new life.
Thanks for these beautiful words…so rich and beautiful!!
I think there’s also a difference between “inclusion” and “welcome”. Look at Jesus and Zacchaeus — Jesus sat and ate with him but if Zacchaeus had said “I’m keeping the cash”, I suspect Jesus would have had some things to say …
So do I :-)