Martyn Percy
Abstract
It is no secret that many institutions like to present themselves to the outside world as organised, clear and linear. The reality, however, is invariably quite different. Far from being easy to read and follow, institutions are, family-like, entangled and messy, with intertwining and overlays at every level. Following one thread from beginning to end will be a convoluted journey that leads in multiple directions. As Anthony Maher notes in his Refounding the Church: A Revolution in Lay Spirituality, ecclesiology is a study of entanglement. To study global Anglicanism is, essentially, an extended exercise in the ecclesiology of entanglement.[1]
Perhaps this also explains why the ecumenical dialogue undertaken by the Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC) has been so complicated. This is mainly because those engaged from the Anglican side don’t represent the actual Anglican position. That is not their fault. It is simply the case that on so many issues, there is no “official” Anglican dogma or position. Or, if there is, it is subject to multiple internal disputes within the polity. ARCIC was an organisation created in 1969 that sought to make ecumenical progress; now in its third phase ARCIC has produced fruitful theological collaboration on areas such as salvation, authority, and Mariology (among others).
However, as has become increasingly clear to Roman Catholics over the course of 50-plus years, Anglicans struggle to define Anglicanism. Clergy preparing for ordination in the Church of England have no standard curriculum that addresses their ecclesiology. Consequently, some Anglicans think they are “Catholic-but-Reformed,” others adhere to Evangelical Protestantism, and a tiny minority think that they are, in fact, genuinely Catholic (but not Roman). Some Anglican clergy adopt Roman Catholic styling in liturgy, nomenclature and dress. This is done despite the clear Protestant polity – “ecclesial DNA” – of the Church of England.
A PASTAFARIAN APPROACH TO ECCLESIOLOGY
In a Pastafarian approach to ecclesiology, the concept of entanglement provides an essential key to understanding the dynamics of ecclesiological issues and methodologies. Spaghetti, cut-and-dried, has many uses. Many infant schools and parents can testify to the usefulness of long, thin, translucent sticks that can be arranged in a variety of patterns, glued, painted, and turned into an absorbing art-class hour for young children. Dried spaghetti is all about straight lines, making it ideal for providing shape and order in the hands of a child trying to illustrate something. Cooked spaghetti, however, is another matter. No longer cut-and-dried, it curls, bends, becomes entangled within itself, and is inseparable from the sauces that might accompany it.
Following David Tracy’s treatise on analogy in theology,[2] I extend his argument to aspects of ecclesiology. After all, the church is referred to as “branches of a vine” and a “household of faith” in the New Testament. These are motifs that belong within the orbit of an analogical imagination. Homes and vines are, of course, inherently untidy. They can be ordered and even neat, but they are also bound to develop in their own, natural way. So, with a new Archbishop of Canterbury (Dame Sarah Mullally), what can be said about our Pastafarian approach to ecclesiology?
First, churches and denominations must be candid about their origins and roots. Usually, these are more than just religious; they involve politics, nationalism, and culture, and can include complex histories of colonial expansion.
Second, churches and denominations travel. Anglicanism has had a presence in Macau and Hong Kong for almost 200 years (commencing 1842) and makes essential contributions to social welfare and education across the region.
Third, the challenges facing the worldwide Anglican Communion are keenly felt by the community of Anglicans in Macau, Hong Kong and East Asia more widely. Understanding the roots of Anglicanism is vital to its stability and identity.
THE ENGLISH REFORMATION
The English Reformation began more as a political affair in 1534, rather than as a theological movement. In 1527, Henry VIII requested that Pope Clement VII grant him an annulment of his marriage. The Pope refused. In response, Henry VIII weaponised Parliament. Between 1529 and 1536, a series of laws were passed that abolished Papal authority in England, stripped all religious houses of their wealth, and declared Henry VIII as the Supreme Head of the Church of England. With Henry’s new powers, final authority in doctrinal disputes now rested with the crown. Yet Henry spent most of his reign reiterating Roman Catholic doctrine. At his death, he requested requiem masses to be sung and was buried with full Catholic rites.
Thus, the English theological Reformation should not be conflated with the political reforms that preceded it. These reforms were enacted during the Reformation Parliament of 1529–1536, unifying the secular and religious sources of authority under a single sovereign power. This was a sequestration of spiritual powers and assets under state control. The Church of England did not substantially change its doctrines until much later (e.g., 1563). However, the fundamental theological changes in doctrine had to wait until the reigns of Edward VI and Elizabeth I.
MAKING ANGLICAN SPAGHETTI
I regard this complex history as a “spaghetti”. When Jesus spoke of the Church, he used a rather riveting analogy: “I am the vine, you are the branches.” Even for an apparently homogeneous organisation like the Church of England (let alone the Anglican Communion), “branches” offers a better descriptive fit than most of the labels on offer. It suggests intra-dependence yet difference; unity and diversity; commonality yet independence; continuity and change; pruning yet fruitfulness.
In terms of ecclesiology, I hold that many denominations have spaghetti-like origins. From cut-and-dried fundamentals, they quickly cook into a spaghetti of entangled issues, debates, disputes and interwoven, contested relations. It becomes impossible to unentangle those identical strands that once seemed so clear and separate. The whole can still be appreciated, since the parts have effectively entered into a stage of fusion. However, the original separateness of the compositional ingredients is wholly lost in what has been subsequently formed.
With its untidy and unclear present form, which I believe is rooted in its origins, the spaghetti of Anglican polity requires some degree of deconstruction if we are to understand how the past still reaches into the present. If the apparent certainties of the past turn out to be less clear, and the origins of Anglicanism itself more spaghetti-like, then it might just be possible to plot a more honest and realistic way forward for a Communion in a time of crisis. In the 21st century, with the Church of England struggling to make sense of itself and the rest of the world increasingly disenchanted and disengaged, this may be an opportune moment to ask if the present crises might, in fact, be an opportunity.[3]
For some in the field of ecclesiology – more usually on the dogmatic or systematic wings of theology – a cut-and-dried approach in accounting for denominational identity is the preferred mode of apologetics. Texts that espouse this kind of reasoning will argue for unbroken lines of ontological descent in episcopacy. Or, for a purity, clarity and linearity that runs from the past to the present.
But even here, connections, disjunctions, new trajectories and offshoots have to be acknowledged. Bill Bryson, in Notes from a Small Island[4] offers an observation about one of our most famous London maps, which is also an iconic piece of design: the London Underground Map. Harry Beck designed the map, and it was groundbreaking in its heyday. Looking at it now, one can immediately appreciate that Beck was also a trained electrician. So, Beck laid out his map like an electric circuit diagram. In pursuing our analogical imagination, Beck’s map is of the cut-and-dried spaghetti variety.
Beck understood that as long as the lines and junctions connected, the “disorderly geography of the city above” need not be a problem to those who could follow a simple circuit diagram. That map is an attempt to confer intelligibility on the disorder above, and what cannot be easily seen or understood. As Bryson noted of the underground map, Beck “gave his map the orderly precision of an electrical wiring system, and in so doing created an entirely new, imaginary London…”.[5]
Whilst I find such maps useful, I also contend that the reality, origins, and identity of churches and denominations, and their relation to their environments, histories, and cultures, are far more disorderly and complex on the ground. Bluntly put, encountering ecclesiology is more akin to a bowl of cooked spaghetti, with little to be gained by treating the church as some cut-and-dried entity or by summoning order from the chaos. (It’s Pastafarian, as I say).
An ecclesiology that proceeds on straight lines – like well-ordered rail networks (or the model railway sets beloved of English Anglican clergy in bygone eras), does have some value. As these two illustrations show – one like Beck’s map and the other a kind of “family tree” – we gain essential insights into how the church developed. What might be helpful, however, is to deconstruct the dish to identify the ingredients and their origins.
Neatness, order and coherence have ecclesiological value. The images of cardinals gathered in identical dress for the funeral of Pope Francis, and then for the conclave to elect Pope Leo XIV, are telling. And indeed, in comparison with the last Lambeth Conference for Anglican bishops gathered from across the world. The conclave and its attendant public liturgies presented an impressive regiment of imperial uniform. Unity and uniformity are dress-coded. The Anglican gathering, in contrast, exhibits diversity in dress. In contrast, the picture below of the funeral for Pope Francis reflects a kind of zoned marshalling in St. Peter’s Square (almost an expression of imperial ordering?).
At the Conclave in Rome
The Lambeth Conference
The contrast between a “conclave” (literally, “a locked room”) to elect a Pope and the committee set up to choose a new Archbishop of Canterbury is as night and day. The former was rooted in spiritual discernment and two millennia of prayer-soaked practice. The latter was a secular-managerial process “committed to prayer”.
Ultimately, what no new incumbents of Lambeth Palace can address is the unresolved nature of the Church of England’s identity. Since 1834, many Anglicans have bought into the myth that it possesses two pedigrees: Protestant-Reformed and Catholic. Some Anglicans go further, entertaining fantasies of reunion with Rome, forgetting that the core theology of the Church of England is Reformed Protestantism and that the Head of the Church is the reigning English monarch, not the occupant of the Vatican.
Dame Sarah Mullally, as the next incumbent of Lambeth Palace, will face the challenge over the identity issues that have remained unaddressed since the Church of England separated from Rome in 1534. Anglicanism is a branch of Protestantism. Authentic, and unlike other Reformed churches, Anglicans kept their bishops, and some of their clergy and churches continue to adapt their liturgies and clerical dress codes from Rome. Others do not and opt for a more Protestant, evangelical or charismatic style of worship. But there is no liturgical uniformity because there is no central power or authority in the Anglican polity to police its rich (and very prolific) diversity. It is essentially a Latitudinarian church. There is no central system of canon law. Many Anglican Provinces do not require affirmation of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Faith.
True, Anglicans retained bishops. But they are not “apostolic successors” in the way that Roman Catholics understand that term. Church of England bishops hold their episcopacy by virtue of their teaching the faith (“passed on”) and continuing to fulfil the function of episcopacy. The deeper meaning of “successors” – inheritance of grace from the apostolic lineage – is something Protestant evangelical Anglicans either reject or think wholly unnecessary.
For the worldwide Anglican Communion, the moment may have arrived to stop pretending that global Anglicanism is like Roman Catholicism and is in some sense similar. The process for choosing a new Archbishop of Canterbury illustrated this. The selection committee evaluated and interviewed the candidates against a job description and a statement of needs prepared by another committee. This was not the process of spiritual discernment familiar to Roman Catholicism. It was a secular process committed to prayer. So, the new Archbishop of Canterbury could not emerge from a conclave. Nor could they emerge from the democratic, open and transparent election processes that some other parts of global Anglicanism have adopted for electing their bishops. An elitist English Anglican establishment will always shy away from such egalitarian ecclesiology. But if the Church of England were to own its Protestant identity more explicitly, it might find that a genuinely democratic synod would attract far more public support than some secretive committee ever could.
THE PROSPECTS FOR DIALOGUE
Where precisely this leaves ARCIC is unclear. Catholic-Lutheran dialogue began in 1964 as the Second Vatican Council progressed. The discussions and gatherings reflected the Roman Catholic Church's new openness to dialogue with other Christian denominations. Whilst Lutherans have generally found it easier to identify their polity represented by the Lutheran World Federation in dialogue with the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity, the more Evangelical wing of Lutheranism has shown a more marked reluctance to draw closer to Rome.
Of course, leadership and governance in all churches, institutions and any kind of state can be convoluted. The moral imperative must lie in transparency and truth, which form the foundations for trust, and ultimately hope. So, perhaps there is no Anglican monopoly over ecclesial spaghetti. Perhaps the only way forward in reading and understanding the multiple entanglements of Protestantism is to embrace a radically honest Pastafarian approach.
In 2026, the Roman Catholic Church in Macau celebrates the 450th anniversary of its foundation, and the 30,000 faithful – 5% of the city – can testify to the significant contributions the church has made to education, welfare and culture. In 2034, the Church of England will mark its 500th anniversary, having grown into the wider Anglican Communion. And in 2042, Anglicanism in Hong Kong and Macau will give thanks for 200 years of faithful witness and ministry across the region.
Anniversaries are important moments for celebration and reflection. By paying attention to all the roots that form churches and denominations —and to how they have become entangled over time —we gain a more honest, critical appreciation of ecclesial identity. But perhaps more importantly, churches and denominations can be released from those “captive myths” that wrongly frame their ecclesial identity, allowing them to face current and future challenges with firmer resolve, deeper discernment, and greater intelligence. The truth sets us free.
Often, the only way to move on from the messy entanglements of ecclesial life that seem bound to hamper and hinder the church is through patience, prayer and deeper study. A Pastafarian approach to ecclesiology can help us all critically evaluate the past, value the good of the present, and step into God’s future.
Table Comparing Anglican-Protestant Ecclesial Polity with Roman Catholicism
[1]Maher, A. (2026). Refounding the Church: A Revolution in Lay Spirituality, London: Palgrave Macmillan.
[2]Tracy, D. (1988). The Analogical Imagination: Christian Theology and the Culture of Pluralism, New York: Crossroad Publishing.
[3]Percy, M. (2025). The Crisis of Colonial Anglicanism: Empire, Slavery and Revolt in the Church of England, London: Hurst Publishing.
[4]Bryson, B. (1995). Notes from a Small Island, London: Doubleday.
[5]Bryson, B. (1995), Notes from a Small Island, (p.54). London: Doubleday.
Prof. Martyn Percy.
REFERENCES
- Maher, A. (2026). Refounding the Church: A Revolution in Lay Spirituality, London: Palgrave Macmillan.
- Tracy, D. (1988). The Analogical Imagination: Christian Theology and the Culture of Pluralism, New York: Crossroad Publishing.
- Percy, M. (2025). The Crisis of Colonial Anglicanism: Empire, Slavery and Revolt in the Church of England, London: Hurst Publishing.
- Bryson, B. (1995). Notes from a Small Island, London: Doubleday.
- Bryson, B. (1995), Notes from a Small Island, (p.54). London: Doubleday.
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