BOOK REVIEW by George Conger, Anglican Ink.
Andrew Atherstone, Archbishop Sarah Mullally (Hodder Faith, 2026)
Andrew Atherstone’s biography of Archbishop Sarah Mullally, published in time for March 2026 installation as the first female Archbishop of Canterbury, offers readers an unintentionally revealing portrait. While the book presents a celebratory narrative of a “trailblazer” who “smashed the stained-glass ceiling,” careful readers will discern a more troubling story: the theological transformation of a young evangelical convert into an ecclesiastical progressive whose current positions bear little resemblance to the faith that initially shaped her.
The Evangelical Sarah
The early chapters of Atherstone’s biography paint a vivid picture of Sarah Bowser’s formation in the conservative evangelical world of 1970s-80s suburban Surrey. At St. John’s Woking, young Sarah was immersed in what can only be described as robust, conversionist evangelicalism. The church ran regular “guest services” and special missions where American evangelist Bob Watters saw hundreds “take the first step of asking Jesus into their lives” and begin “trusting in Jesus.” When Sarah was twelve, the parish hosted a children’s mission led by Scripture Union evangelist Oliver Styles. The church’s quarterly magazine, Forward, proclaimed an “energetic Christian confidence and passion for growth” focused on proclaiming the gospel’s “stupendous and awesome” events.
At age fourteen, during confirmation preparation, another teenager’s simple question—”Are you a Christian?”—led Sarah to what she later described as her personal commitment to Jesus Christ, “the true beginning of her Christian discipleship.” Atherstone records that she participated enthusiastically in youth group Bible studies, Spinnaker Cruises on the Norfolk Broads featuring “quiet time” for personal Bible study and devotional talks, and “Meeting House” events in London that ended with evangelistic appeals.
At Woking College, Sarah immersed herself in the Christian Union, whose stated purpose was “building up and encouraging Christians in their faith and reaching the rest of the College with the Good News that Jesus is alive.” The CU tackled topics including “the second coming of Christ, living the new life, following God’s plan and spiritual warfare.” Most tellingly, Atherstone notes that at university, Sarah became active in the Universities and Colleges Christian Fellowship (UCCF), an organization requiring doctrinal adherence to biblical infallibility, substitutionary atonement, and justification by faith alone.
This was no nominal Christianity. The teenage Sarah Bowser was a committed evangelical believer shaped by conservative Protestant theology, biblical authority, and conversionist faith.
The Progressive Archbishop
Fast forward to 2026, and the reader encounters a very different figure. Atherstone’s later chapters reveal an Archbishop whose primary theological commitments center on “Christian compassion, inclusion, and care for the marginalised”—language notably devoid of the gospel categories that defined her youth. Her advocacy work focuses on migrants, the poor, domestic abuse victims, and opposition to assisted dying legislation—important social concerns, but ones that could be embraced by any humanitarian of goodwill, Christian or otherwise.