Carl Chambers argues that victims of abuse have been failed by churches too easily covering things up
In 2015, Matthew Syed published a book called Black Box Thinking. He contrasts the culture of the airline industry with the health service in the US and UK.
He notes how the ‘safety culture’ in the airline industry is one that positively encourages people to admit to making mistakes. The aim is to encourage transparency and learning, so accidents can be avoided in the future. Success has been seen in the decline in plane crashes over the decades, despite air travel increasing hugely.
Compare this to healthcare in both countries, where tens of thousands of people die each year, because of mistakes that could have been avoided. Yes, that seems crazy, but the book illustrates this well. The reason, Syed argues, is because the healthcare industry is riddled with powerful people who do not seek challenge and no one dares challenge. The consultant’s say is final – even if it means risking the life of the patient. Again, Syed illustrates this convincingly.
What does this mean for us, as Christians?
In thinking this through, I wanted to know more about what drives an airline pilot to admit to errors, especially big ones. So I phoned a friend who has been a pilot for a quarter of a century.
One reason is technology. There’s something called a QAR (Quick Access Responder). The moment you land, every aspect of your flight is sent by 5G to your head office. This is then compared with your own self-reporting, and your co-pilot’s, and the Control Towers’, and Air Traffic Control, and everyone else who gets to report. You can’t hide.
‘Christians know that’, I said. We believe in a God who sees everything – every little thing.
And the safety culture? Well, that is fundamentally a culture of love: of concern for others before yourself. Again, if Christians don’t know that, we don’t know God.
Why then are churches not more transparent? We all know there is sin, just as every pilot knows they’ll make mistakes. But it seems some churches have become too good at covering it up or pretending it doesn’t exist. That we are still hearing of victims of abuse in 2020 is proof that, at least until now, we’ve failed to allow people to speak out.
I wondered about the issue of shame, especially for pilots from countries with a strong shame culture. Interestingly, there seems to be anecdotal evidence to suggest that a ‘shame culture’, or one where there is an ‘authority gradient’ (where you can’t challenge your superior), does lead to greater likelihood of accident. So says my British pilot friend, at least!
Yet again the gospel speaks into this. We know Christ has taken our shame and we know that we are all equal before God, brothers and sisters in Christ, where those in power are equal to us, if not ‘lesser’ (in the sense that the Christian leader is servant).
When flying, we all know that a safety culture, which relies on transparency, that appropriately deals with shame and gives voice to everyone is profoundly desirable and healthy: lives are saved.
How much more the church of love, which serves an omniscient God, who has taken our shame from us whilst justly dealing with sin and made us into one body of equal parts! All the more so when our mission is not safely taking people from A to B, but pointing them to an eternal relationship with our heavenly Father through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have eternal life.
What might this look like in practise? Here are two live examples that I’ve heard of recently.
One minister was recently attending a café in his church, where the rule was ‘masks if standing, not if seated’. He stood for a moment to greet someone sitting at another table, but delayed putting his mask on (though kept his distance!). One of the servers gently asked him to put the mask on. He apologised then. Crucially, as he left the café, he made a point of going to the server to say thank you for rebuking him. They were apologetic that they had, for something so brief. But he insisted: ‘You were right and I was wrong. No one should be above our Risk Assessment.’ He made a point of saying that in front of the other helpers, so it was clear he embraced being rebuked. Some might think it wasn’t necessary to do this, but the key point is: affirming the helper publicly meant it was easier for someone to rebuke the minister again, perhaps on something more challenging.
Elsewhere, an Anglican minister was discussing with his PCC the issue of Communion, and whether it could be in one kind or two. He commented that he felt it was illegal to be in one kind and moved the conversation on. A warden picked him up later and said he thought it wrong that the minister had spoken as he had, when the bishops have advised that Communion may be taken in one kind. The minister wanted to quote Article 30 which stipulates one kind only, but didn’t leave it there. At the next meeting, he made a point of saying thank you that someone had corrected him, and explained the wider context. He stressed that it was really important people didn’t feel bullied into agreeing with something just because the vicar says so. This was then minuted. Some people felt this was a little over the top, but the minister explained: ‘If I show I’m correctable in the small things, then people will feel more able to challenge me in other areas, which might be harder to raise. I want a culture of openness where we all speak the truth in love – and every voice is heard.’
The gospel enables us – indeed drives us – to seek transparency and openness. We know God sees everything, so can’t hide. We know our sins and weaknesses are covered, and our shame is taken away. We know we are part of the body of Christ, where discord and darkness hinder our unity. Our call is to live this out. If the airline industry can do it, how much more the children of God!
The unseen cost of boarding school: pain, healing, and the gospel
There is a malady which affects the souls, bodies and lives of many men and women, but is barely spoken …