This is the third in a series of reflections about Anglican cathedrals written by those of us who have been given custodianship of these great buildings: Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, Washington National Cathedral, and Salisbury Cathedral. Jane Shaw and Gary Hall have already described, from their context in the United States, how cathedrals across the whole Anglican Communion are icons of visible Christianity and mother churches within our dioceses. In the West, where churchgoing as a routine habit is on the decline- the Church of England lost a million regular attenders in the decade of the 1990s-our cathedrals are seen as beacons of confident, open Christianity making a difference through exceptional worship and outreach. What is happening within these buildings, whether small, middling, or large, is an intriguing phenomenon of contemporary Christianity. Regardless of size, they stand large on our landscapes, be they geographical or social, urban or rural.All of our Anglican cathedrals draw on the legacy of ancient foundations. Some, such as Salisbury Cathedral, have capitular foundations which go back over a thousand years, with buildings that predate the dissolution of the monasteries, Reformation zeal, the transforming worldview of the Enlightenment, and the collapse of empires. Some have libraries that contain manuscripts as early as Anglo Saxon. For all of us life tends to be measured in decades rather than weeks. Even twentieth-century cathedrals draw on those same ancient rhythms and habits of worship, shared common life, hospitality, outreach, education, and learning. In South Sudan, where civil society is as fragile as anywhere on the Anglican map, new dioceses enthusiastically build themselves a cathedral, many with basic materials of corrugated iron and brick, and the then appoints a dean and canons who build the diocese with him in that tradition of wellordered liturgy and the proclamation of the Word of God.Here in the Provinces of Canterbury and York, the Church of England has recently started offering its bishops and deans a newly created form of professional training. The body that won the contract for providing this training is a business school, so most current episcopal and decanal leaders will have joined MBA students in Cambridge for intensive courses where the skill sets offered are not theological but organizational and managerial.You can understand the justification for this investment of the church's resources. Deans are responsible for significant and complex enterprises involving heritage buildings and historic environments, commercial operations and schools alongside being also priests and guardians of the spiritualities of these communities of prayer. If things go wrong in a cathedral it tends to make national headlines. In recent memory, one English cathedral has had to be rescued from bankruptcy, another from a crisis brought on by the Occupy movement, and another from the scandal of historic child abuse by one of its leading volunteers. All manage the more routine risks of reputation and finance, with a severe breakdown of relationships always the most painful of threats. In the face of such responsibilities deans could legitimately ask what provision the church makes for equipping them for the task. Hence most of the English deans have found themselves students of accountancy skills, project management, marketing, and other forms of strategic leadership in a mini MBA program.In the two previous articles describing the experience of the modern Anglican cathedral, my fellow deans Jane Shaw and Gary Hall gave abundant evidence of the popularity of cathedral life. From being narrowly and exclusively the seat of the bishop they have become a trusted public space in which the whole community gathers, extending a truly Christ-like model of the church as a safe space in which people of all faiths or none meet to do risky or difficult things. These are not primarily structures for congregational existence, though multiple congregations thrive within them. …
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