A Question of Belief

By Nelva Moss

Belief is rarely pure and never simple. This book explores the particular perplexities of belief as experienced by one female vicar in the Church of England. To exercise a public and representational role within any faith community will always bring its own pressures and paradoxes. Here, the author acknowledges and explores her own questions, which cover a wide range of topics from politics to preaching; from science to suffering. A constant theme of the book is the relationship between fact and truth. Fact is, of course, an important vehicle of truth, but not the only one. Symbolism, metaphor, myth, the creative arts have all conveyed the deep truths of Christianity to the author, who remains totally committed to her faith. Perhaps unsurprisingly, however, she takes a non-literalist view of belief, which she accepts will not be shared by some fellow Christians. But in her experience and understanding, to follow Christ means to seek the eternal truth which he embodied, and which will always be more elusive and intriguing than a recital of fact. And – for the author at least – more joy-giving. This is a hopeful book!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398474758

Nelva Moss

Nelva Moss was ordained priest in the Church of England in 1994; the first year in which women were so ordained. Thus began over twenty years as a vicar in Dorset and Oxfordshire. This followed an earlier career in teaching, and time given to the upbringing of her three children. She has a love of history and good story telling, whether on the page or on the screen. Now retired, she lives with her husband, Mike, in Dorset. They enjoy visiting historic sites and exploring the English countryside, in which beautiful village churches are so often found next to delightful village pubs.

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How Did It All Begin?

I was ordained deacon by Bishop John Baker at Salisbury Cathedral, in September (Michaelmas) 1993. A year later I was ordained priest in St Nicholas Broadwey (Weymouth) by Bishop John Kirkham. Within the Broadwey benefice, I served as an NSM assistant priest, mostly in St Laurence Upwey, our home parish. Then in 1996, my husband’s work took us to Oxfordshire, where I was appointed Team Vicar in the Langtree Benefice, near Wallingford. It so happens that I ended up serving three parishes in this benefice; Ipsden and North Stoke, then finally Woodcote.

Soon after my last move, in the late 1990s, I wandered into church and picked up a Bible from a pile at the back. On the inside cover someone had printed in bold lettering, ‘In this book you will find all the answers.’ In a momentary panic, I froze. Was this the ‘party line’ I was now supposed to proclaim? I took a deep breath and relaxed. Of course not! I resisted the urge to print underneath: ‘No, in these books you will find all the questions!’ However, I did place that particular Bible at the bottom of the pile, while reflecting that I was embarking on a vocation with the potential for much misunderstanding and hurt, both given and received!

Why are people so keen to race through the questions in search of answers? Especially as the really Big Questions about the meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything, have no definitive answers! I recall another incident from earlier in my Christian journey, when I attended an introductory lecture on the Alpha course (a popular Christian education course then and now). I’m sure this course has much to offer which is good. I’m in no position to judge, for the simple reason I’ve never attended an Alpha course. Why? Because the speaker at one point, in response to a query, said something like: ‘Of course we encourage and welcome questions of any kind… but we are there to ensure they get the right answers!’ I realise that this was a passing remark which I perhaps unfairly seized upon and focussed on. But I had – and have – no desire either to give, or be given, the ‘right’ answers. Why do some religious people (and convinced atheists of course) even believe they have them? How do they know they are ‘right’?

My suspicion of ‘right’ answers started very young! At the age of about 7 or 8, I attended Sunday School, in my home town of Rugby. Everybody did in those days, especially if, like me, they came from a church going family. My parents, Reg and Joan Wakelin, with their three daughters Shirley, Jill and myself, all attended St Peter’s Church, and Sunday School was part of the deal. Not a problem. I’ve always enjoyed writing and drawing, so I would happily write down the stories we were told, and illustrate them. But I remember we were told not to draw Jesus, because our picture wouldn’t be accurate, so we could just put a cross instead! Why did the picture of Jesus have to be ‘right’ whereas my picture of the disciples didn’t matter? Well, I suppose at least this was an early introduction to the concept of symbolism!

Then, at around the same time, the Vicar visited the Sunday School. He talked to us about Jesus, and asked us who his parents were. Of course, we all answered Mary and Joseph. We were children. We knew that parents were the people who lived with you and looked after you – Mummy and Daddy. Wrong, we were told. God was Jesus’ daddy, not Joseph. And so began a long Christological conversation which has gone on in my head ever since. Just who is this Jesus; how does he relate to us and the rest of humanity; how do we interpret all we read in the Bible, and say in the Creeds? Meanwhile, full points to that vicar for his doctrinal purity, but zero for his understanding of a child’s mind. I learned at that point to be very wary of what vicars tell you!

All the more amazing then, (but also weirdly inevitable perhaps!) that after a patchy association with the church, a teaching career, marriage and motherhood, I found myself in my late forties considering the possibility of ordination. By this time, my husband Mike had taken up a post in Dorset, and we were living and worshipping in Upwey, between Dorchester and Weymouth. And by this time, the whole debate about women priests was in full swing, but at the point where I was accepted for training on a Salisbury based course, there was still no guarantee that I would ever be ordained priest. I focussed my thoughts on ordination as a deacon. But then, at the start of my final year in November 1992, the church finally voted to ordain women to the priesthood. I’ll never forget that evening. The phone rang with messages of congratulations and support, not only from close family and friends, but from neighbours and acquaintances, all with warm wishes. This was the first intimation for me that at least some of the world does still notice what the church does, whether for good or ill!

This was born out the following year, when I was ordained deacon in Salisbury Cathedral. Many people were milling around as usual, and as a small group of us made our way across the Close, feeling very self-conscious in our new dog collars, several onlookers approached us, asking if we were the new women priests. We tried to say yes, but not yet, and to explain the process, but it made no difference. We were hailed and hugged, and there were comments like; ‘My mum said she’d never go to church again until they had women priests.’ I quietly hoped that Mum wouldn’t be too annoyed that her excuse for not going to church was now removed! Oh, and the comment which, as a vicar I would hear time and time again; ‘I don’t go to church but…!’ In this case, ‘I don’t go to church but it’s really great what you’re doing. Good luck!’

Are Christian priests allowed to believe in luck? What is the ‘right’ answer to that? Perhaps I’ll pick up on it later, along with many other questions which I have pondered over the years. Do not look for academic theology in the coming pages! Look rather, for a personal exploration of what it has meant for one middle aged teacher, wife and mother to be an Anglican priest at the turn of the century and beyond. Above all, look for a personal exploration of commitment to God and Christ, as expressed not in doctrinal certainty, but in joyful struggle and faithful questioning.

Give to your church, O God, a bold vision and a daring charity, a refreshed wisdom and a courteous understanding, that the eternal message of your Son may be acclaimed as the good news of the age; through him who makes all things new, even Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

(from Celebrating Common Prayer)

Is It All True?

"During a lull in the Cold war, a Russian diplomat was explaining to an English one the difference between Russian and British newspapers. ‘Suppose you and I had a race, and you came in first. Your newspapers would report: The Soviet and British ambassadors yesterday had a race. The British ambassador won. In Pravda, the report would be: A race took place yesterday between diplomats. The Soviet ambassador came in second. The British ambassador finished only just in front of the last man.’"

F.H. Drinkwater

At the start of their licensed parish ministry within the Church of England, clergy are required to make a Declaration of Assent, in which they affirm and declare belief in the faith which is revealed in the Holy Scriptures and set forth in the catholic creeds and to which the historic formularies of the Church of England bear witness. They are required to declare their loyalty to this inheritance of faith; a faith which the church is called upon to proclaim afresh in every generation.

I gladly and sincerely gave – and give – my assent to all of this. I am in so many ways a devoted and traditional Anglican, nurtured by the language and beauty of the Book of Common Prayer and King James Bible. I am indeed loyal to, and profoundly grateful for, this inheritance of faith which is revealed and delivered to me through the Scriptures, liturgies and creeds of the Church of England. But that is the point. All scriptural, creedal and historic writings are human expressions of faith, are they not? Yes, very often they are wonderfully inspired, and it is incumbent upon me to study, respect and learn from them all, and to proclaim them afresh to this generation, so that they continue to be a vital spiritual resource for everyone. But do they contain a clear, unambiguous check list of 101 statements of fact which define the Christian faith, and which I must accept and tick off? No, not even the creeds! Faith doesn’t work like that – at least not the faith which I hold dear.

What on earth do I mean? Well, let’s consider the opening words of the Apostles Creed: I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified died and was buried. He descended into hell, and on the third day rose again…

Do I believe all this? Actually, yes I do, but not in the way many might suppose, and probably not in the same way that my parents and grandparents did. (Although I admit, I never asked!) By which I mean that I do not take the creed as a series of factual propositions to which I give my intellectual assent. I do not understand how anybody could view it this way, given that its main focus is on such indefinable and contentious ideas as God; God’s son; spiritual and virginal conception; hell; resurrection. In all of these cases you would have to begin any discussion with the words ‘It depends what you mean by…’, and there is no objective, verifiable evidence on which intellectual consensus could be achieved around any of these concepts.

So, when I say ‘I believe’ I am not necessarily speaking about accepting a statement as literal, historical fact. (Although in many cases it may be that too, of course. Jesus was certainly conceived and born, and Pilate was definitely historical!) I am, rather, saying that my belief in God leads me to engage with, and commit to, truthful ideas about the nature of humanity and divinity, as revealed in Jesus of Nazareth. Moreover, this unique man’s life and power could not be extinguished within the silence of a grave. For some Christians, this approach immediately invalidates my discipleship, because they have bought into the post-Enlightenment doctrine that the only form of truth is scientifically proven fact, and therefore if the claims of religion are true, they must be factual. Do I accept this? I do not, and I am grateful to the writings of many erudite theologians who, over the years, have opened out my understanding of what it means to have religious faith. A glance along my bookshelves will reveal names such as: John Robinson, C.S. Lewis, Rowan Williams, Richard Harries, Keith Ward, Angela Tilby, Tom Wright and