Berkley Center

In all my preparation for living in London, the one place I thought would need not adjustment seems the hardest to adapt to: church life. On Sundays in London or back in the United States, one is very likely to hear and learn about the church in the local as well as the universal context. Our faith connected us not only to those sharing the same pew that day, but to those all around the world worshiping out loud, silently, in the open air, or in hiding. Despite the differences in circumstance, we could stand in solidarity out of shared convictions…or so is the espoused attitude.

Now, I don’t want to make it sound as if churches in London have nothing in common with churches in the United States. Certainly not! For the most part, I would say that the church I attended yesterday afternoon is almost identical to the church I attend at home when it comes to format, teachings, and even the songs the worship team sang. But for a few weeks now, I’ve felt like the princess who found her bed most uncomfortable due to a tiny, little pea. (No, I have not convinced myself that living on the same island as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have made me a sort of royalty.) I must admit, however, that there was something different that I am still not sure I’ve completely put a finger on.

For the past few weeks I’ve tried to piece together an idea of what Christianity is like and how it is viewed this side of the Atlantic. Some have told me that as long as you’re confident in what you say, people just accept you for who you are no matter where you spend your Sunday afternoons. This was especially encouraging to hear, especially in the university environment—university being a particularly precious time for a student to be open and exposed to new ideas and beliefs.

However, the majority of the people with whom I’ve conversed (and I do not limit this group to students) have shared about the subtle ostracism and estrangement that occurs when they are open about their faith. They even looked to the United States as a sort of safe haven for out and proud Christians, and I can’t say I blame them after what I’ve heard.

Admittedly I cannot say that being open about my faith at home has only met with kindness and understanding. Indeed, I have more than once been patronized and inadvertently belittled for holding onto the faith of my childhood. However, I have seen this little parcel of difference between British and American cultures largely magnified in the performance of faith (or lack thereof) in politics.

Disclaimer: I do not think myself some expert political analyst, though I do try to stay as informed as possible. Here is what I have observed:

In Britain, politicians shy away from being expressly religious. They do not deny having a religious background if that is indeed the case, but it seems that they want to make sure people know that they make decisions by reason and logic, not faith. On the other hand, one need only recall Governor Rick Perry’s prayer rally this past August to get a contrasting image of faith and politics in the United States. Though Governor Perry received much criticism for the rally, it is duly noted that the political atmosphere in the United States still had space for such faith-led actions.

What I found most interesting about the whole issue (and where I initially began the thought process for this letter) is the historical aspect of the issue—and not just because I’m a history major. Since the reign of King Alfred the Great (the first acknowledged king of the English peoples), the church and the throne have been closely tied as faith played a large part in Alfred’s policies and actions.

The link between faith and monarchy was solidified in the sixteenth century when the famed King Henry VIII made himself the head of the Church of England—a tradition that has continued to this day. In contrast, the Founding Fathers of the United States determinedly constructed the nation’s framework so that church and state would be separate and protected from each other.

Why, then, have faith and government turned out as such? The church is legally bound to the government, at least, by the Queen’s titular status as the head of the Anglican Church. And yet, those who serve the throne and nation seem determined to ignore or forget that inescapable fact. On the other hand, in a nation where church was intended to remain separate from the political arena (a debatable fact, admittedly), the fact of separation of church and state does not deter our statesmen from boldly exercising faith in public or private.

More importantly, how affected or effective has this cultural phenomena in London society been? Are my Christian friends experiencing the aftermath of the timid faiths of their political leaders? Or something else entirely? Unfortunately, I haven’t the slightest idea of how to answer my own questions and can only end with this half-chewed through. Hopefully, I will at least have succeeded in sharing and processing a number of observations I have made thus far in London.