What the Heck Are Bishops For?

What They're Supposed to Do (and Why it Matters More than Ever)

Bishops catch a lot of flak. Sometimes it’s fair. Sometimes it’s just because no one really knows what they’re for. Are they shepherds? Strategic managers? CEOs? Liturgical furniture? HR with a crozier?

At their best, they’re meant to do four things: exercise authority, foster unity, lead the Church in apostolic mission, and teach the faith. That’s the core job description. It’s what gives the office its heft, theologically speaking, even if most people only ever encounter it through confirmation services and the occasional press release.

Now, bishops haven’t always kept to that script. Over the centuries, they’ve morphed from apostles to aristocrats, from imperial dignitaries to ineffectual gentry, from heresy-hunters to corporate managers. Some have even been saints. The role’s ability to absorb the culture around it has helped it survive, but it’s also made it harder to tell what’s integral to its office and what’s just cultural baggage.

So what’s the point of bishops? This post has a go at answering that not by idolising the past, but by digging into those four ancient responsibilities—authority, unity, mission, and teaching—by distilling what I helped to write for the Church in Wales’s Faithful Stewards in a Changing Church report that was released in the midst of the Covid lockdown.

1. Authority

From the start, episcopal authority was intended to serve the Gospel. The apostles were given authority by Christ to proclaim, teach, and hold the fledgling Church together. Their successors—bishops—were tasked with the same office: preserving the apostolic faith, nurturing Christian communities, and embodying the unity of the Church in both word and life.

Early figures like Ignatius of Antioch emphasised the profound authority of bishops; they were to be obeyed “even as Jesus Christ does the Father.” Likewise, Irenaeus saw bishops as guardians of apostolic truth and Cyprian believed they were stewards of unity. Authority, in this vision, was pastoral and doctrinal: exercised to teach, to gather, and to guard against error.

That episcopal authority was transformed by Rome’s embrace of Christianity as its official religion. By the end of the fourth century, bishops had become prominent public officials—managing resources, negotiating with emperors, and leading civic institutions. Many, like Ambrose of Milan, used this role to defend both doctrine and justice (as they saw it). But with increased influence came compromise. In the medieval Church, bishops often functioned as landed nobles and royal advisors. Episcopal authority still shaped faith and order, but it could also be used to suppress dissent or to enhance personal prestige.

The English Reformation reshaped it again. Bishops became instruments of state policy—defending a national Church from Rome on one side and radical reformers on the other. Writers like Richard Hooker defended the office as grounded in Scripture and tradition. But by the 18th century, episcopal authority had waned, undermined in many cases by absentee governance and constrained by lay patronage.

It was only in the 19th century, amid Evangelical and Catholic renewal, that episcopal authority regained its pastoral edge and ecclesial focus. Bishops began to teach again, visit parishes, engage socially, and reside visibly within their dioceses.

In the 20th century, especially after World War II, episcopal authority was reshaped by the rise of synodical government and expanding bureaucratic demands. Bishops increasingly shared governance with elected synods, while much of their authority was delegated to staff or constrained by legal frameworks. This made decision-making more collaborative but also redefined the role, tying bishops more closely to institutional management.

And yet the old calling remains. Episcopal authority exists to serve the Church’s life: to teach the faith with clarity and depth, to hold the Body of Christ together in charity and truth, and to lead the people of God in public witness to Jesus. That witness may look different in every age—preaching on a street corner, speaking into public debate, guiding a community through crisis—but the heart of it is always the same. Authority isn’t an end in itself; it’s a gift for the building up of the Church. And when bishops use it that way—gently, courageously, theologically—it becomes not a burden but a blessing.

2. Unity

From the start, bishops have been meant to hold the Church together—not by enforcing uniformity, but by gathering diverse people into a shared communion. Ignatius of Antioch’s claim, “Wherever the bishop is, there is the Catholic Church,” was intended to express the bishop’s role as a visible centre of faith and fellowship. Cyprian made a similar case: bishops weren’t just individual overseers, but participants in a communion that embodied the Church’s oneness across time and space.

But unity was never neat. Those early claims arose in the midst of fierce debates about doctrine, leadership, and who was really in the Church. Bishops presided over councils that hammered out creeds and anathematised heresies, and sometimes split the Church in the process. Unity, in other words, was contested from the beginning.

In the fourth and fifth centuries, in the wake of Nicaea and Chalcedon, bishops became key agents of theological, institutional, and social coherence. In the West especially, as imperial structures collapsed, bishops became community linchpins. They preserved continuity through common prayer, sacraments, political patronage, and pastoral oversight. Even when bishops themselves disagreed—sometimes bitterly—their shared office embodied the assumption that the Church should be one.

By the High Middle Ages, however, the papacy, strengthened by canon law, had emerged as the symbolic centre of unity in the Western Church, with bishops seen increasingly as local delegates. The Conciliar movement briefly challenged that model, arguing for episcopal collegiality over papal supremacy—but the centralising tide won out.

The Reformation shattered the old framework. In England and Wales, bishops were repositioned as royal guardians of national unity—charged with preserving order in a Church no longer defined by Rome. In the decades leading up to and immediately following the British Commonwealth, they were in the forefront of royal attempts at imposing conformity. But unity grounded in royal allegiance ultimately proved fragile. By the start of the 18th century, bishops had become more institutional functionaries than living symbols of communion.

One of the most significant developments in Anglican episcopacy as a focus of unity was the creation of the Anglican Communion and the Lambeth Conferences, where bishops from across the world could gather, deliberate, and symbolise global communion. Though Lambeth holds only moral authority, its very existence—along with Primates’ Meetings—has underscored the bishop’s role in fostering synodality and mutual accountability. Yet from the mid-1990s, that unity has been severely tested, as divisions over sexuality and cross-border interventions have led to fractured relationships. Bishops have found it increasingly difficult to serve as unifying figures without becoming symbols of deeper division.

Throughout its history, the episcopate has retained the power to gather and convene—not just administratively, but liturgically, pastorally, sacramentally, and eventually in synod. That gift remains. To gather is to resist fragmentation. To preside is to hold difference without disintegration. At their best, bishops are living icons of a unity that prays together, argues together, and stays together—not because it’s easy, but because it’s holy.

3. Apostolic Mission

From the beginning, the bishop’s calling has been defined primarily as apostolic. The apostles weren’t managers of institutions; they were witnesses, sent out as eyewitnesses of the risen Christ. The first bishops inherited that office, tasked with proclaiming the Gospel, baptising new believers, gathering communities, and caring for the poor. Their authority came not from sitting still, but from being sent out. Paul’s journeys, Peter’s ministry among outsiders, and the missionary energy of the earliest Christian leaders weren’t the exception but the norm.

As Christianity gained social and political footing, things began to change. By the fourth century, bishops had become more settled, based in cities and increasingly drawn from the elite. Evangelism became the work of monastics, while bishops focused on defending doctrine, maintaining public order, and administering diocesan life. Still, some resisted the drift: figures like Patrick in Ireland and Augustine in Canterbury continued to embody apostolic mission in new lands, preaching, planting churches, and engaging deeply with the cultures they encountered.

In the early medieval Church, bishops often arrived after evangelisation had already begun. Their role was to formalise what others had started: establishing dioceses, consecrating cathedrals, and introducing structure. It was still apostolic in a broader sense—ensuring the Church’s presence took lasting, sacramental form—but it gradually lost its original role within apostolic mission. Indeed, apostolicity came to be associated less with evangelism than with the deposit of faith. Still, medieval bishops at their best were great patrons of the poor and needy.

The Reformers attempted to recover that edge. Hugh Latimer, for example, called bishops back to gospel basics: “And ye that be prelates, look well to your office; for right prelating is busy labouring, and not lording. Therefore preach and teach, and let your plough be doing.” Likewise the high church bishop John Cosin envisioned episcopal life as shaped by Christ’s own life: rooted in prayer, sacrament, and sacrificial presence.

The 19th century saw a more intentional revival of the missionary bishop. George Selwyn in New Zealand, Jackson Kemper in the American frontier, and Frank Weston in Zanzibar carried the Gospel across cultural, geographic, and economic divides. Weston’s reminder that Christ is found in both tabernacle and slum captured the inseparability of worship and justice as an apostolic hallmark.

Today, episcopal mission risks being buried under bureaucracy. But the need remains. Bishops may not always go far, but they are still sent: to preach, to listen, to bless, to challenge. When they embody that sending—by turning up, proclaiming the Gospel, or gathering new communities—they recover the heart of apostolic ministry.

4. Teaching

One of the bishop’s core responsibilities is to help the Church understand and articulate its faith. Teaching was central to their teaching from the beginning. The apostles taught. The early bishops taught. Figures like Clement, Ignatius, Irenaeus, and Cyprian weren’t just administrators, they wrote, preached, and contended for the faith in turbulent times. Apostolic teaching was how the Church stayed anchored.

As the Church grew more established, the bishop’s role as teacher became more formalised. The cathedra—the bishop’s chair—symbolised their teaching office. Augustine wrote the book on it (On Christian Teaching), and Gregory the Great opened his Pastoral Rule by warning bishops not to teach unless they first understood their subjects pastorally. Episcopal teaching was above all else pastoral.

Even episcopal households became centres of learning. Bishops were expected to train priests, sponsor schools, and ensure catechesis happened. Bede famously urged Bishop Egbert to ordain enough clergy and teachers to cover the diocese. Teaching wasn’t always direct, but it was always a bishop’s responsibility.

During the 12^th and 13^th centuries, however, the focus of teaching began to shift to universities. Cathedral schools gave way to universities in cities like Oxford, Paris, and Bologna. Bishops were usually educated men, but less likely to teach directly. Still, many sponsored colleges and supported theological work in their dioceses.

The Reformation tried to restore the teaching ministry of bishops. Bishops were expected not only to be more attentive to catechesis and confirmation, but also be personally involved in promoting the doctrine of the Church and contending with Papists and radical reformers. Most were university-trained, and many wrote or commissioned theological works.

But by the late 20th century, the role had shifted again. Theology increasingly became an academic subject in universities while bishops moved into head offices as managers. Compliance, finance, and governance took over. Many bishops felt unqualified—or simply too busy—to act as public theologians. A few notable exceptions—Temple, Ramsey, Williams—kept the flame alive. But for most, the teaching office has necessarily faded into the background.

Renewal doesn’t require every bishop to be an academic or write a book. But it does mean creating space for theological depth. Bishops can promote learning, host conversations, support wise voices, and help the Church think. It doesn’t need to be lofty, but it should be faithful: rooted in Scripture, shaped by tradition, and responsive to the world we actually live in.

Back to the Fundamentals

So, what are bishops for?

They’re not primarily managers, though they’ll always have administrative work. They’re not figureheads, though their symbolic role matters. And they’re not politicians, even if diplomacy is sometimes necessary.

At heart, bishops are called to be custodians of the Church’s calling: proclaiming Christ, nurturing communion, teaching the faith, and embodying the mission of God. They hold authority in order to serve; they gather not for control, but for communion.

In a Church facing contraction, financial strain, and cultural irrelevance, it’s tempting to double down on structure, to become more efficient at doing less. But perhaps the time has come to strip things back—to recover authority rooted in Scripture, unity shaped by presence, mission embodied in apostolicity, and teaching delivered with clarity and grace for the good of souls.

The next Archbishop and the next Bishop of Bangor face enormous challenges. But if we can begin to see the episcopate not as an office of institutional survival, but of spiritual stewardship, then perhaps we’ll find renewal where we least expect it—from bishops themselves.