Cardinal Vincent Nichols and the decline of British religion
Just like the royal family, both main British Churches thrive on disaster. It is at times of public frustration and anxiety that we most seek solace in the purportedly infallible, and when the seemingly inexorable drive towards secularism seems to halt. In times such as these we are forced to confront our mortality, to reflect on our insecurities.
Tradition dictates that the Catholic Church should perform its traditional trick, perhaps its only remaining trick, performed in the vain hope that its pertinence in modern society can be salvaged, if not enhanced. The trick entails it exploiting the public disaster to offer reassurance, to seem to be a backbone for society, and changing from its usual position of silent surrender to secularisation. Holy Week gave the Church the perfect opportunity to fill our screens with their eternal message; proclaiming the hope of salvation; filling their state-endorsed position as national purveyor of a faith that continues to dwindle. They will be criticised by “devout” atheists such as myself for exploiting public grief for gain, but it shows at least that the church can still savour a chance of surviving in Britain, and is willing to engage in an intellectual argument with the wider world.
Yet for a nation facing its biggest crisis for eighty years, two figures have been conspicuously absent from public life. Justin Welby has appeared only momentarily, to offer the advice to keep safe, be nice to everyone, and to wash your hands, with an occasional reminder of the virtues of faith. His response also included the inevitable lament that the crisis will lead to more inequality in society — yet another political intervention to add to his previous statements on the evils of grammar schools and the “oppression” of the gig economy. The Church of England continues to scour the middle-ground in its forlorn search for converts.
The Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Vincent Nichols, has offered a response of much the same kind, preaching the same meretricious messages of hope and kindness which seem almost embarrassed of their religious undertones. Nichols has led the efforts to close down all churches, ridding all people of faith from a place in which to pray. Nichols had one small attempt to promote his message, asserting that “faith sustains us”, promoting “a structure to our spiritual life”. This half-hearted plea reeks of the very defeatism which has confined the Church to its current desolate position, offering up merely an advert for what sounds more like a mindfulness programme.
The Church’s apparent zeal in closing down all its places of worship is particularly surprising from a figure such as Nichols. He leads a loyal Catholic population which is starkly different from the sporadic congregations that attend Anglican services. His at best lacklustre response to the crisis contrasts with that of Pope Francis, who has become not just a religious figurehead in the Italian struggle, but a national embodiment of resistance. In Britain however no religious leader can hold the same influence, or reassure so many. Yet it seems that at times of crisis, the Catholic Church in Britain is not even willing to put up any struggle.
The Church will not necessarily prosper during this crisis. Although many people will contemplate their mortality in times such as these, this does not necessarily translate into a steady flow of new regular churchgoers, and those who already are such may not return once they have fallen out of the habit. Online services will not be enough to entice younger audiences to attend every week. The Catholic Church is facing the prospect of spending months with its followers worshipping and praying without any churches and months during which many congregants see no priests. It is not a healthy position.
The backbone of any faith is its heritage. Both Anglicans and Catholics share a unique history that has created art, music and literature that can be the most compelling tool in promoting the idea of a divine creator and of salvation.
Yet Cardinal Nichols plans to rid his church of it. As Archbishop of Westminster Cathedral, he holds a power that many a bishop or dean would envy, presiding over England’s primal Catholic Church. The Cathedral Choir is known to be the finest of its type in the country, which performs Mass daily. To perform so regularly at such a high standard depends on the school’s full-time care for its choristers and the endorsement of the music from the top. Both of these duties Nichols has rejected.
We might also consider the Cardinal’s interference in national and international politics, his inflammatory reaction to the implementation of same-sex marriage, his banning of a regular mass for the Catholic LGBT community in London, and his efforts to have Catholic adoption agencies excluded from guidelines on sexual orientation. This amounts to a dismal portrait of the man who leads the Catholic Church in England and Wales. Next year, Nichols will be seventy-five, and will have to resign. Both the remaining credibility of the dwindling church he represents and the wider sphere of public decency will be the better for it.
