A Complex Man Tries to Hold Anglicans Together

Archbishop of Canterbury Exercises Power of Persuasion to Battle the Threat of Schism

He leads an international fellowship of 77 million Anglicans but doesn't like to travel first class.

His official residence is a grand palace in London, but he and his family live in small rooms furnished like any other middle-class British home.

He is the successor of Saints Augustine and Thomas Becket but counts himself a fan of "The Simpsons."

With his bushy beard and black berets, Rowan Williams might more closely resemble the headmaster at Harry Potter's Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry than previous archbishops of Canterbury. But the Welshman is considered one of the most important -- and powerful -- thinkers in Christianity today.

"Without a doubt, he is one of the most theologically astute archbishops of Canterbury that there has ever been," said the Rev. John L. Peterson, who, as former secretary general of the Anglican Communion, worked closely with Williams.

Williams's skills and challenges have taken center stage this week at the Lambeth Conference, a closely watched gathering of Anglican bishops from around the world in Canterbury, England, through Aug. 3.

As archbishop of Canterbury, Williams is spiritual leader of the Anglican Communion, charged with holding together the world's third-largest body of churches. Amid a divisive debate over homosexuality that threatens to split the communion, Williams has pleaded for patience and unity, at least until Anglicans can draw up a new constitution to settle their differences. The Episcopal Church is the U.S. branch of the Anglican Communion.

But Williams actually has minimal power over the communion, a family of 38 autonomous national churches that grew out of the Church of England. Unlike a pope, he cannot silence dissenters or excommunicate critics.

However, the archbishop does have a bully pulpit, and Williams has used his homiletic talents to great effect, observers say. During a raucous debate over female bishops in the Church of England this month, Williams brought the assembly to tears with a sermon on inclusion, and at least according to the British media, might have forestalled schism in his church.

David S. Cunningham, a longtime friend who studied under Williams at the University of Cambridge 25 years ago, recalled that even then "the word was on the street, go hear this guy's lectures."

The son of a mining engineer in Wales, Williams was known from an early age as a theological wunderkind, earning prominent professorships at England's most prestigious colleges while still in his 30s. His wife, Jane, is a well-regarded theologian in her own right.

Despite his powerful position, Williams, 58, said he appreciates those "on the edges of the church, people in the world of arts, medicine and psychology."

A published poet who once idolized Welsh bard Dylan Thomas, Williams spent a month last year with the Jesuit community of Georgetown University, writing a forthcoming book on how faith is depicted in the novels of Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky.

"He's good-humored, clever and witty," recalled the Rev. John Langan, rector of Georgetown's Jesuit community.

In Britain, Williams is spiritual leader of the established Church of England, a position that is appointed by the prime minister and approved by the monarch. He holds a special seat in the House of Lords, serves as patron to hundreds of organizations and, like his predecessors, has his every word parsed by the British media.

And yet, Williams lives humbly, said Cunningham, who has visited the archbishop at his London residence, Lambeth Palace. Williams is the first archbishop of Canterbury in some time with two 20-something children -- daughter Rhiannon and son Pip -- making Lambeth less a palace than an average middle-class home.

"He lives pretty simply for someone invested with the kind of privilege he is," Cunningham said.