Reform votes: what really matters in the end

Two votes, three decades apart.

George Pitcher

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

A grand dinner table set for a meal sits within a large room with paintings on the wall.

The dining room of the Garrick Club.

I was this week one of several hundred members of the Garrick Club, with many more attending online, crammed into a central London conference room to vote on whether women could be admitted as members for the first time since our founding in 1831.

We Garrick members rather fancy ourselves as a secret society – and it was a rich irony that our vote was held in the same block as the Freemasons’ Hall in Great Queen Street.

Actually, I rather like the tradition that what’s said and done in the Garrick stays in the Garrick. So this isn’t about our club’s internal wrangling and politics, beyond the now widespread news that women were voted as eligible for membership by a majority of 60 per cent.

Rather than go further into that, I want to compare it with another well-fought fight for women’s inclusion: The admission of the female gender to the priesthood of the Church of England, more or less exactly 30 years ago in 1994.

Much of what was going on in the Church then was being rehearsed again in London WC2 this week. You might call it long overdue dismantlements of patriarchal institutions, even if neither the Church nor our club would self-identify as such. No case could continue to be sustained for all-male preferment in our Church or in our club.

To their great credit, the vote was won for reform by those who decided to work together, without rancour or resentment, in preference to further division and bitterness.

There are two observations I would make of the Church precedent that may be of some comfort to my fellow club members, who may feel that nothing will ever be quite the same again. The first of these is quite a quick point. After a couple of weeks of women’s priesthood, almost everyone in the Church wondered what all the fuss had been about. Ordained women became a natural part of the priestly fabric of the Church really that quickly.

Yes, provision had to be made for those who in conscience couldn’t accept women’s ordained ministry, so the process was not without its pain. But three decades on, women priests (and subsequently and inevitably bishops) are so much part of the weave of that fabric that most church congregations feel they’ve always been there.

The second point I would make is that I know anecdotally of very many traditionalists opposed to women’s ordination who, at the General Synod, either voted for women or abstained when the result became inevitable. To have fought a last-ditch, hopeless defence could only have lastingly damaged the Church’s reputation and ministry.

To their great credit, the vote was won for reform by those who decided to work together, without rancour or resentment, in preference to further division and bitterness. My feeling is that a tranche of Garrickian votes were cast for similar reasons.

These were women at the top of their game. It’s just taken a couple of millennia for our churches and clubs to catch up.

The comparison of a gentleman’s club and gentleman’s church is an imperfect one. Members of a church could be male or female; only the clergy were strictly male. There were profound theological and ecclesiological arguments (though I don’t share them) made against the prospect of women priests by Anglo-Catholics, which aren’t available to fans of men-only clubs.

But the similarities between the institutions are founded on the principles of patriarchy nevertheless. The idea that men, in private circumstances, can behave and associate in the pretence that they are still in charge of everything, as they were in the nineteenth century, both at church and in clubland.

This doesn’t matter much when it comes to the likes of all-boy or all-girl sports teams – though it’s a delight to see Woodlanders Football Club, Lioness-cubs to a girl, beat the boys to win their cup.

It begins to matter very much indeed when the senior figures of professions and public institutions seek to associate only with their male colleagues. That’s as true of a boss who takes only the boys in the office to a rugby match at Twickenham as it is of gentlemen’s clubs. It may be patriarchy-lite, but it is rooted in the same hegemony that gave the Church its patriarchs.

It’s an irony as rich as the location of this week’s Garrick vote that the gospel is far from patriarchal in its narratives, even though the language of Father and Son so ostensibly is. The Nazarene, scandalously for his day, freely associates with women. The Jesus movement is radical in gender equality in a manner that its Church has failed down the centuries to emulate.

Jesus gives full messianic attention to a despised and shamed Samaritan woman; he saves an adulterous woman (code for prostitute) from stoning; he stops to address a bleeding woman who just wants to touch him; as the risen Christ, he gives a woman, Mary of Magdala, the greatest apostolic mission in history to tell his dispersed disciples what she has witnessed.

Little wonder women appear so prominently in the Acts of the Apostles. These were women at the top of their game. It’s just taken a couple of millennia for our churches and clubs to catch up.

Review

Community

Culture

Film & TV

Romance

21 October 2024

5 min read

Nobody Wants This: the rom-com for tense times

Warning: contains warm depictions of strong community and belief.

Lauren Westwood

Lauren writes on faith, community, and anything else that compels her to open the Notes app.

A couple together on a sofa watch a laptop,

Kirsten Bell, Adam Brody.

Netflix.

I hope places of worship are ready to be inundated with hopeful singles, because it seems there is a market for spiritual authorities as romantic leads.

In its latest hit, Nobody Wants This, Netflix saw Fleabag’s ‘Hot Priest’ and raised us ‘Hot Rabbi’. Through ten half-hour episodes – so watchable that it is easily viewed in two sittings or less – we follow the unlikely love story of recently single rabbi Noah, played by Adam Brody, and agnostic sex podcaster Joanne, played by Kristen Bell. The pairing of ‘a rabbi and a sex podcaster’ may sound more like the opening of a politically incorrect joke, but after an impressive 15.9 million views in its first week of streaming, it’s clear that somebody wants this.

“Tonally, we’re at such a tense time,” shared Brody, as he tried to explain the show’s success. “I think just something that’s very positive and celebrates love, is funny and has a warm feeling. I think people are responding to that.”

It’s true. In days of emotional heaviness and concern, we shouldn’t be surprised by the resurgence of genuinely good romantic comedies. But I don’t think that is all that accounts for the triumph of Nobody Wants This. Its seamless blend of profound religious concepts with an evolving and exploratory faith continually presents viewers with the idea that there is more and better to life. Its redemptive quality goes beyond the classic strangers-to-lovers storyline. Depictions of strong community and belief in greater things have captured an audience who crave something more than surface-level fluff, even from their rom-coms.

Perhaps, their allure does not lie in authority, sacred position, or even in appearance, but in the fact that they, too, are real, vulnerable and multi-dimensional people.

We meet Joanne who, like many of us, is clumsily curious and searching. Initially, she is on a one-woman mission to prove that her work as a podcaster contributes to ‘something bigger’, then she wants to discover whether she is a ‘good’ person or not. These moments of self-exploration are only side quests in her constant longing for a love more lasting than her previous relationships. The character of Joanne is based on series creator, Erin Foster, who converted to Judaism after meeting her partner and, although the series’ highly criticised portrayal of Jewish women leaves much to be desired throughout the show, the season finale leaves us with a clear emphasis that Joanne is now searching for true belief amid conversion questions.

In the role of Rabbi Noah, as in Fleabag’s Priest, we glimpse behind the proscenium into the life of someone who has committed to serving God. In their struggles, hopes and complicated relationships, we discover a humanness beyond the lectern, titles and ceremonial clothing. In Noah, we see a man who does not always get it right – who often misses the mark – but who owns up, makes amends and learns from his mistakes. During one particularly moving scene, Noah unashamedly brings the sacred into the mundane by introducing Joanne to her first Shabbat meal over a restaurant date. We see a person of faith who doesn’t allow personal holiness to segregate them from the grit of everyday life and who, above all, prioritises relationship over regimented religion.

There is an obvious physical attraction to men such as Adam Brody and Andrew Scott playing men of the cloth, which I find equal parts weird and worrying for those unfamiliar with real-life clergy, as they’ve possibly had their expectations set a little high. But I wonder if it is their character’s humility, gentleness and authenticity that compels the audience, drawing us to trust them. Perhaps, their allure does not lie in authority, sacred position, or even in appearance, but in the fact that they, too, are real, vulnerable and multi-dimensional people. In these depictions, the life of faith and self-sacrificial vocation does not seem far-off or removed from our society. Not everyone who comes to faith is going to become a rabbi or a priest, but these men go a long way in dismantling the perception that religion and relationship with God is only for a certain, superhuman people. Far from the fire-and-brimstone stereotype, they are responsive, relatable and – crucially, for a romantic lead – emotionally available.

Sure, sex and sexual attraction eventually plays a large role in the plot, but how many romantic comedies save their most tender scene for a powerful moment of humble prayer... ?

On another level, the overwhelming response to Nobody Wants This reveals a desire to be part of healthy relationships is characterised by respect, patience, honesty and kindness. One online comment stating that, ‘Hot Rabbi is a walking green flag,’ speaks for thousands who simply want to be treated well by those they trust. Another claims, ‘This show healed something in me.’ Noah and Joanne’s story not only defies convention around community and social expectations, but it bucks the trend with its non-toxic approach to dating and religion. In the face of a sabotaging ex-girlfriend, an unconvinced sister, and the giant conversion-shaped question-mark over their future, the two persist by continually choosing and honouring one another.

The ultimate strength of Nobody Wants This is that it is founded in a story that seeks its worth in more than just sex. Sure, sex and sexual attraction eventually plays a large role in the plot, but how many romantic comedies save their most tender scene for a powerful moment of humble prayer, instead of a passionate kiss? Nobody Wants This presents the viewer with a better possibility, both of life as it is now and life as it could be. Through Joanne, the person who wants something more meaningful is afforded a front-row seat in exploring religion. Even to the total newbie, there is no judgment or embarrassment – and you’d be hard-pressed to find a person who’d get it as wrong as her, making the sign of the cross in a synagogue. Through Noah, our faith in mankind and religion institution is restored as we witness his honesty, patience and kindness. Surely, this cannot be bad press for any place of worship.