"The journey not the arrival matters.” Who is it who invents clichés? What’s the point of a journey if you don’t arrive?

My first encounter in the car park of the University of Kent where the Lambeth Conference is being held was with a car-park attendant. “You can’t park here, Sir.” “Why not?” “Because you don’t have a pass. “ (He was only following instructions.) “How do I get a pass, please?” “You’ll need to go to the building by the big chimney.” He pointed towards a chimney that towered above the trees. “Can I leave my car here whilst I do that?” “I shall have to check, Sir.” He strolled across to his supervisor who looked like an American Marine. “Sure, you can park here, Sir. No problem.” Ah…

I made my way to the Reception area. A huge, polyglot crowd waited to register. A plasma screen told us in sequence about the Mother’s Union and other Anglican agencies. We shuffled forwards. A bishop in a heavy woollen suit, very warm and deeply puzzled was scooped up by one of the kindly stewards and taken to his accommodation.

My key was issued and two young IT experts issued me with a pass-word for my computer. They smiled. I gave the impression that I understood them but I think they saw through me.

And so, to my room. I unpacked and began to hitch my computer to a suite of plugs and sockets. It was then that I entered one of those circles of hell where you follow the instructions impeccably but they appear to refer to a computer and a computer programme you don’t actually have. I persevered but after an hour of going around in an electronic circle I abandoned the attempt and, with a sigh of relief, picked up my biro and a pad of notepaper.

I had the feeling that neighbours in nearby rooms were having so much more success than I was. They had already sent off two hundred and thirty e-mails and in their spare moments had launched a couple of rockets to Mars.

It’s all very different from the Lambeth Conference of ten years ago. Then only the cutting-edge bishops had computers and they required a furniture van and an entire power station to make them work.

Now, of course, instant communication is everything. E-mails speed around the world in split-seconds and so this Lambeth Conference is subject not only to the vagaries of journalists (I spent a delightful hour with Bill Deedes at the previous Lambeth) but each one of us can be our own Reporter, if you see what I mean. Fragmentation is built into the system.

The question is therefore, in a world where the power of technology encourages fragmentation, aided and abetted by the Media, can the Church as a body committed to community and reconciliation, hold together?

We shall see.

Time was, when the Prayer Book, Canon Law and a suitably wise word from Queen Elizabeth the First, would have achieved a significant semblance of unity in the Church of England. But now, in a church spread right around the globe, what are the forces which will hold us together? The creation of friendships should not be underestimated nor should our particular style of doing things. Lambeth will provide those. And the Archbishop of Canterbury is trying to forge a way of doing our theology together which will also help the process. But what we also need, on all sides, is a desire to hold together. We need to see that we really need each other, especially those with whom we disagree, if we are to begin to comprehend the richness, the glory and the inclusiveness of God.

In a moment, the formal introductions to the Conference will begin, in something aptly named the “Big Tent.”

Puns about circuses will, I hope, be banned.