There was not a huge amount of subtlety in last Sunday’s television episode of Henry VIII. A hard-drinking king with an eye for the wenches gives two fingers to the Roman Catholic Church because the Pope will not allow him to divorce his wife. The line from Rome is stern and unbending. Canterbury, under pressure, offers a more flexible approach. A crude view of history, perhaps, but 500 years has done little to dent the image.

Both Churches, facing their own different crises this week, are behaving true to form. As the Pope approaches the 25th anniversary of his election, 31 new cardinals are elected, most of them from the conservative wing, to shore up the establishment. The Vatican responds to criticism of its stance on homosexuality and contraception by reaffirming its resistance to reform: there will, say its encyclicals, be no retreat from the fundamentals. Meanwhile, in Lambeth, the Anglicans are in the familiar clutches of indecision, torn between their liberal instincts and the popular conservatism of their evangelical wing.

The language of the Anglicans, pleading for understanding, but riddled with inconsistency, says it all. The liberals are this week gathering around the former Archbishop of Canterbury’s letter to the 1998 Lambeth Conference. This asked church members “to listen to the experiences of homosexual persons”. Provided they are baptised and believers, they “are full members of the Body of Christ”.

The official resolution issued by that conference was rather different. It said that homosexuality was a fact of life, but stated that homosexual practices were “incompatible with scripture”. Is it possible to listen to homosexuals and then say that their sexual behaviour is unacceptable in the eyes of God without tearing the Church apart? Even the present Archbishop appears undecided, as the Jeffrey John affair demonstrated. With the appointment by the Episcopal Church of America of its first gay (and divorced) Bishop, the split with the conservatives gaped wide.

Whether it can be patched up this week in Lambeth remains to be seen. If it can, it will have the hallmarks of the Anglican faith down the ages: uneasy reconciliation and stretched compromises. The Catholic Church has no such difficulty. When it comes to dealing with heresies it knows exactly what to do: cut them off at the pass. The Vatican’s ruling on homosexuality, issued earlier this year, stated that there were no grounds for considering that homosexual unions were compatible with God’s plan for marriage and family: “Marriage is holy, while homosexual acts go against the natural moral law. Under no circumstances can they be approved.”

There is hardly standing room here for those of a liberal bent, as one newly appointed cardinal has discovered. The Archbishop of St Andrews and Edinburgh, Keith O’Brien, was a surprise choice when he was elevated recently. His early statements suggested an unorthodox streak. He spoke of the need for “full and open discussion” about issues such as homosexuality and contraception, and asked for the Church to address them “at every level, including the cardinals and the Pope”. Quite what transpired after he had made these remarks is unclear; the Bishop strongly denies any interference from the Vatican.

When he made his Profession of Faith, however, the tone had changed. He said: “I accept and promise to defend the ecclesiastical teaching about the immorality of the homosexual act; I accept and promise to promulgate always and everywhere what the Church’s magisterium teaches on contraception.” It would be an exaggeration to call this a recantation. But a realignment certainly, which will doubtless make his journey to Rome that little bit smoother.

There is no doubt that, in an age of uncertainty, there is a lot to be said for the rock-like consistency of the Catholic Church. Under its unyielding umbrella shelters an astonishingly broad congregation, from left-wing intellectuals to millions of deprived people, guided only by the simplicity of their faith.

At its heart, however, it conceals a fundamental dishonesty. The Church knows that its laws on contraception are almost universally ignored, that the celibacy of its priests is often a fiction, that homosexuality is as common within its Church as anywhere else. It turns its face from the scourge of Aids, abjuring campaigns to promote safe sex that would save millions of lives. It is, in short, a religion that nurses hypocrisy at its heart.

It is easy to mock the vacillation that so often marks the Anglican Church, but at least it is attempting to grapple with the modern world, to confront complex issues, and to strive to resolve them: to deal honestly with conflicting views rather than ignore them. I prefer its open confession of doubt to the false certainty of an intolerant Church. I am, in short, with Henry VIII.

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