The Church's Great Rebrand: Will a Diverse Jesus Fill Pews or Just Stir Tea?

In a sweeping effort that’s sure to ruffle cassocks from Canterbury to Coventry, the Church of England has launched a full-on image overhaul to better “reflect diversity.” Following the Archbishop of Canterbury’s 2021 From Lament to Action report, and the subsequent establishment of an “anti-racism taskforce,” dioceses are rolling up their sleeves—not to dive into centuries of spiritual texts, but to repaint Jesus. That’s right. “God is not a white man,” declare the clergy, and, thanks to a hearty shove from Justin Welby, they’ve set about proving it.

A Celestial Colour Palette: “God is Not a White Man”

If the Diocese of Southwark’s latest announcements are anything to go by, biblical representation is now a multi-ethnic affair. Their update on racial justice was emphatic: “Everything we send out in comms is celebrating diversity—diverse images. God is not a white man; we make sure of the correct images.” No longer satisfied with centuries-old artistic tradition, dioceses across the UK are scrutinising every stained glass panel, every well-worn oil painting, and yes, even Michelangelo’s divine finger in The Creation of Adam might soon get a more inclusive re-imagining.

Southwark, Derby, Coventry, and others have also devised a “diversity audit,” designed to make clergy reflect on whether their sermons, artwork, and imagery “reflect diversity in our worship.” Indeed, from Derby to Chester, dioceses are energetically cataloguing depictions of Jesus that have been “whitened” over centuries, in line with European artistic conventions, and promptly swapping them out for non-white versions. The aim? To counter the so-called “white, normative” structures the Church has traditionally upheld, from parish leadership right up to the Lord Almighty.

The Church’s “Affirmative Action” Gospel

The grand rebranding isn’t just visual. The anti-racism taskforce’s directives have come with firm recommendations for structural change. In 2024, dioceses were asked to report on their progress against these diversity and inclusion goals, with regular diversity audits and reviews of hiring practices to ensure that more ethnic minorities are included in candidate pools for key positions, bishops included. Dioceses now actively seek to counter “all-white ordained teams” by inviting more ethnically diverse guest preachers, and more importantly, full-time racial justice officers are being installed in every region, paid centrally to ensure that no pulpit goes un-diversified.

Despite their ambitious aims, however, there’s been no official “top-down” edict forcing clergy to diversify their stained glass. It’s more of a bottom-up initiative, though underpinned by a hefty dose of “guidance” from Welby’s office, much like one’s boss insisting it’s optional to attend a very important 8 a.m. Monday meeting.

From Lament to a Channel Migrant Boat

While Southwark is updating comms and Coventry audits its artwork, Bristol has moved forward with its own radical rebranding of religious iconography. A stained glass window once dedicated to 17th-century slave trader Edward Colston has now been transformed into a scene of a non-white Jesus in a Channel migrant boat, subtly splicing a dose of contemporary politics with divinity. St Albans Cathedral made headlines in 2020 for its own leap forward, installing an image of The Last Supper featuring a black Jesus above its altar. Chester diocese has engaged in a similar project, delving into Christ’s global image and curating an exhibition that showcased non-European depictions of Jesus, effectively opening the divine image gallery to everyone—so long as He’s no longer white.

Imaginary Friends Can Be Any Colour—But Will It Fill Pews?

One might say that for an entity often regarded more as a philosophical friend than a physical one, this seems a lot of energy spent on mere representation. Surely, if God were filed under “imaginary friends,” we could paint him in whatever hue we fancied, from chartreuse to lilac. But to the Church of England, it’s serious business, with clergy earnestly questioning whether they’ve adequately diversified “depictions of Jesus, God, biblical characters and issues, and topics we cover.”

Justin Welby himself has made it clear that the “Church has failed” on the issue of racism, calling for repentance and action after the Black Lives Matter movement. And while iconography might not seem the most pressing issue, dioceses have taken the taskforce’s 2021 objectives as a directive for “significant cultural and structural change.” Now, with 2024 progress reports rolling in, the Church seems eager to show that its galleries and clerical ranks alike are moving toward a “new normal”—one where the divine visage is decidedly multi-ethnic.

The Price of Rebranding the Divine

But does this rebranding spree have parishioners pouring into the pews? After all, it’s one thing to update artwork to reflect “global diversity,” but will diverse Jesus really be enough to inspire mass attendance? That remains to be seen. The challenge here, of course, is that these aesthetic adjustments come at a time when the Church of England faces greater, more concrete crises—failing congregations, unresolved abuse cases, and the ever-growing need to convince the average Brit that Christianity can still be relevant.

It’s hard to argue that changing Jesus’ skin tone does much to tackle these deeper issues. To the Church’s critics, it looks suspiciously like a convenient distraction from its own failures of accountability. For many, this quest for a more “inclusive” God might feel more like virtue-signalling than true soul-searching.

The Almighty Overhaul: New Images, Same Challenges

As the Church moves into this brave new world of divine diversity, it’s certain to continue raising eyebrows and rustling feathers. In a few years, we may indeed see a Church of England festooned with iconography from every corner of the world, each with its own hues and cultural flairs. But whether this version of a more inclusive, multicultural Jesus will bring the faithful back to their local chapels or merely fill diocesan diversity quotas remains anyone’s guess.

So, as the Church of England soldiers on with its revamped racial justice work, one thing remains as clear as a stained glass window: it’s not just about changing how the Church looks—it’s about redefining what it stands for, and whether that vision of “diversity” is something its remaining congregation can get behind. And if nothing else, it’s taught us this: in the Church’s new gospel, diversity is divine, even if the faithful still have their doubts.