Editorial By Advocatetanmoy
How progressive trends hollow the faith and alienate believers
The recent appointment of Dame Sarah Elisabeth Mullally as the 106th Archbishop of Canterbury has been heralded as a historic milestone: the first woman ever to ascend to the highest office of the Church of England. A former nurse, Bishop of London since 2018, and a lifelong Anglican who first professed faith at sixteen, Mullally’s journey is both remarkable and emblematic of the church’s drive toward inclusion. Yet what is being celebrated as a triumph in some quarters is, in truth, a tragic symbol of an institution unmoored from its own foundations.
I welcome the appointment of The Right Reverend and Right Honourable Dame Sarah Mullally D.B.E as the new Archbishop of Canterbury and the first woman to hold the role.
The Church of England is of profound importance to this country. Its churches, cathedrals, schools, and charities are part of the fabric of our communities.
The Archbishop of Canterbury will play a key role in our national life. I wish her every success and look forward to working together. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s statement on the appointment of the Archbishop of Canterbury, 3 October 2025)
The Church of England once stood as a bastion of theological clarity, moral certainty, and a cultural anchor for the nation. Its liturgy, its doctrines, and its sacraments were not simply ornaments of tradition, but pillars of spiritual formation. Today, however, those pillars tremble under the weight of left-liberal ideology and the fashionable dogmas of “woke” culture.
The story of Sarah Mullally is not without dignity. Born in Woking in 1962, educated at Winston Churchill Comprehensive School and Woking Sixth Form College, she first pursued a vocation in nursing, earning her RGN and BSc in 1984, later completing an MSc in health and welfare studies. She rose through the NHS, embodying compassion and competence, before discerning a call to ordained ministry. By 2001, she had trained at the South East Institute of Theological Education and taken a Diploma in Theology at the University of Kent. Her professional and spiritual lives intertwine in a portrait of service and care.
But what does her elevation say about the Church of England? It speaks less of faith than of fashion. For decades, the church has sought relevance in the idioms of modernity, exchanging creed for consensus, doctrine for dialogue, and sacrifice for slogans.
The Woke theology dresses itself as compassion, but in practice, it empties the church of conviction. It no longer speaks of the human condition in biblical terms—sin, repentance, redemption—but in political categories of power, privilege, and grievance. The result is a faith that does not call people to Christ but instead mirrors the debates of Twitter and Westminster. It becomes religion without transcendence, worship without awe, faith without fire.
Critics are right to point out that this appointment carries profound theological implications. By ordaining women as priests, then bishops, and now by placing one at Canterbury itself, the Church of England has severed any hope of unity with Rome or the Orthodox churches, which continue to affirm the catholic and apostolic order of Holy Orders. What began with Henry VIII’s schism has now, centuries later, dissolved into a pluralistic experiment where truth is optional, authority provisional, and sacraments negotiable.
The church’s defenders will argue that appointing a woman Archbishop is an act of justice, a sign of progress, a demonstration of the gospel’s inclusivity. But one must ask: has this pursuit of progress brought people back to the pews? The evidence is damning. Rural parishes close their doors. Urban congregations dwindle. Rural parishes with conservative congregations feel alienated. Younger generations, already skeptical of institutions, see nothing unique in a church that parrots the ideologies of academia and media. Numbers continue to collapse, not because the gospel is irrelevant, but because the gospel is scarcely preached. The church is losing members not for its faithfulness, but for its faithlessness.
Cathedrals increasingly serve as tourist sites and concert halls rather than houses of prayer. The story of the Methodist Church of New Zealand, which pioneered female ordination, or the Diocese of Dunedin, which appointed a woman bishop, provides sobering lessons: inclusion does not beget revival, and progressivism does not fill the nave.
In truth, the crisis runs deeper than gender. The church has lost the grammar of transcendence. It no longer knows how to speak of sin, grace, salvation, and eternal life. Instead, it offers therapeutic bromides, political platitudes, and a gospel of social respectability. It has become, in the eyes of many, a spiritualised arm of local government—good at managing charities, confused at preaching Christ crucified.
The appointment of Dame Sarah Mullally is not the cause of the Church of England’s malaise but the symptom of it. She is a capable, compassionate leader, but she has been placed at the helm of a vessel that no longer knows its destination. This is not a new Pentecost but a quiet funeral procession disguised as a celebration.
To be sure, Dame Sarah Mullally is a woman of intelligence and devotion. But she is also a symbol of the church’s trajectory—a trajectory away from apostolic witness and toward ideological accommodation. Her appointment reflects less the guidance of the Holy Spirit than the applause of liberal elites.
The tragedy is not that the church is engaging with culture. The tragedy is that it has capitulated to it. In pursuing relevance, the Church of England has made itself irrelevant. In chasing the world’s approval, it has lost its divine mandate. In embracing wokeism, it has abandoned wisdom.
The true crisis is not one of leadership but of identity. The church no longer knows who she is: the Bride of Christ, set apart and radiant with truth. Instead, she plays the part of a weary institution, eager to be liked, desperate to appear modern, yet increasingly unable to explain why she exists at all.
The Church of England, once the custodian of creed and conscience in this nation, has become an institution adrift, bending to every cultural wind while failing to offer a reason why men and women should still walk through its doors. It has traded its inheritance of faith for the currency of fashion, and in so doing has lost both its authority and its soul.
October 04, 2025
Read More
- Act of Supremacy (1534): The King is the supreme head of the Church of England
- Towards the end of the 17th century, the Church of England got its own character- A discourse
- Speech by the British Queen at Inauguration of General Synod of Church of England (24/11/2015)
- Definition of the Union of the Divine and Human Natures in the Person of Christ-Church of England
