The Church in the UK Today
Though a few weeks' stay is by no means conclusive, I'll offer these observations of church life in the UK today. My first Sunday, I went to church in Kew. The sanctuary was full of people of all ages. At the Peace, right before communion, the children came in from "children's church" and showed off the coat of many colors they had made as they learned about the story of Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. The children then remained in the sanctuary with their parents. There was a baptism that day, so there might have been a higher than usual attendance, but the impression I got was that this was a vibrant, caring Christian community.
In Lincolnshire on 19 June, Richard and I got up, he put on a tie and jacket and I shook the wrinkles out of my skirt, and we walked across the road to the 800-year-old church of St. Cuthbert. The sign on the gate said that worship was at 9:15. We arrived at 9:10. Nobody was there. We waited until 9:30, said the Lord's Prayer together, and took the path back down to the gate and across the road. Two of the locals were walking dogs and chatting over the fence. We were obviously overdressed for a morning stroll. "Today's not a service day," said the man with the short dog of unknown breed.
"No, not today," said the woman with the border collie. "I have a schedule. I'll check." So she popped in the house and came out to inform us that there would be evensong that very night at 6:30 p.m.
When we returned later for evensong, we heard organ music as we walked down the path. That, we felt, was a good sign. The verger who met us at the door gave us a Book of Common Prayer and invited us to sit in the chancel, since he was expecting a small gathering. By the time the vicar arrived, there were 9 of us altogether (including the vicar, the verger, and the organist). The dog that ran up the aisle during the closing hymn made 10. Before the blessing, the vicar said, "Wouldn't it be nice if everyone in this parish entered into worship with such joy, and such confidence in being welcomed."
After worship, when we introduced ourselves (Minnesota, Oh, A Prarie Home Companion, Lake Wobegon and all that, Oh, I'm a fan.) Vicar Jonanthan explained that St Cuthbert's in Brattleby was one of 8 churches he was serving, as a favor to the bishop, since he is actually retired. It's an interim time. The vicar whose name was on the sign by the road (the sign which invited us to come to worship that morning at 9:15) has been gone for 5 years. Likely, the church in Brattleby will be shut, just like the one in nearby Aisthorpe.
It was disturbing to see so many closed churches in the countryside, and even more disturbing were the overgrown church yards. In Aisthorpe, there were a few grave sites that were mowed and tended, but the great majority of the resting places of the saints who have gone before are covered with weeds and brambles.
In York, we rose up on Sunday morning to join the majority of English folk in the more typical Sunday activity: a drive in the country, and a visit to one of Britains many Heritage sites. We arrived at Castle Howard when the ticket office opened and strolled through the gardens.
I don't think Roman Catholicism ever really converted the hearts of the Celts, Britons or Saxons. They are all really Druids at heart. On Sundays, they worship in the gardens, or the forests, or the parks. It's that simple.
This morning, in Edinburgh, I was a little late for worship at St. Giles and I missed the sermon, which the verger told me was a mercy really. He invited me to nip in the back during the offertory. The doors of St. Giles are guarded by the verger and several police constables. Because it is on the Royal Mile, tourists are prone to mistake it for a museum or cafe. It is open for tours most days, of course, but it is also a Church of Scotland (the High Kirk of Scotland), and there was an impressive gathering of people such as you would expect to find in any Presbyterian (or UCC) church in the States. Mostly grey haired, modestly well dressed (some of the men in kilts which they wear with the shirt, vest and jacket of a three-piece suit). Holy Communion was awesome. Heart-achingly beautiful, as beautiful as the Cumbrian Mountains but in an altogether different way. I prayed for you all, that you were all tucked safely in your beds as it was only four a.m. your time, and I know you will be praying for me when it's ten o'clock there and tea time here.
The closing hymn this morning was my theme song, and I took it as a little gift from God: We who would valiant be let us not waiver/But in true constancy follow the savior./There's no discouragement shall make us once relent/Our first avowed intent/TO LIVE AS PILGRIMS. God bless you all.
In Lincolnshire on 19 June, Richard and I got up, he put on a tie and jacket and I shook the wrinkles out of my skirt, and we walked across the road to the 800-year-old church of St. Cuthbert. The sign on the gate said that worship was at 9:15. We arrived at 9:10. Nobody was there. We waited until 9:30, said the Lord's Prayer together, and took the path back down to the gate and across the road. Two of the locals were walking dogs and chatting over the fence. We were obviously overdressed for a morning stroll. "Today's not a service day," said the man with the short dog of unknown breed.
"No, not today," said the woman with the border collie. "I have a schedule. I'll check." So she popped in the house and came out to inform us that there would be evensong that very night at 6:30 p.m.
When we returned later for evensong, we heard organ music as we walked down the path. That, we felt, was a good sign. The verger who met us at the door gave us a Book of Common Prayer and invited us to sit in the chancel, since he was expecting a small gathering. By the time the vicar arrived, there were 9 of us altogether (including the vicar, the verger, and the organist). The dog that ran up the aisle during the closing hymn made 10. Before the blessing, the vicar said, "Wouldn't it be nice if everyone in this parish entered into worship with such joy, and such confidence in being welcomed."
After worship, when we introduced ourselves (Minnesota, Oh, A Prarie Home Companion, Lake Wobegon and all that, Oh, I'm a fan.) Vicar Jonanthan explained that St Cuthbert's in Brattleby was one of 8 churches he was serving, as a favor to the bishop, since he is actually retired. It's an interim time. The vicar whose name was on the sign by the road (the sign which invited us to come to worship that morning at 9:15) has been gone for 5 years. Likely, the church in Brattleby will be shut, just like the one in nearby Aisthorpe.
It was disturbing to see so many closed churches in the countryside, and even more disturbing were the overgrown church yards. In Aisthorpe, there were a few grave sites that were mowed and tended, but the great majority of the resting places of the saints who have gone before are covered with weeds and brambles.
In York, we rose up on Sunday morning to join the majority of English folk in the more typical Sunday activity: a drive in the country, and a visit to one of Britains many Heritage sites. We arrived at Castle Howard when the ticket office opened and strolled through the gardens.
I don't think Roman Catholicism ever really converted the hearts of the Celts, Britons or Saxons. They are all really Druids at heart. On Sundays, they worship in the gardens, or the forests, or the parks. It's that simple.
This morning, in Edinburgh, I was a little late for worship at St. Giles and I missed the sermon, which the verger told me was a mercy really. He invited me to nip in the back during the offertory. The doors of St. Giles are guarded by the verger and several police constables. Because it is on the Royal Mile, tourists are prone to mistake it for a museum or cafe. It is open for tours most days, of course, but it is also a Church of Scotland (the High Kirk of Scotland), and there was an impressive gathering of people such as you would expect to find in any Presbyterian (or UCC) church in the States. Mostly grey haired, modestly well dressed (some of the men in kilts which they wear with the shirt, vest and jacket of a three-piece suit). Holy Communion was awesome. Heart-achingly beautiful, as beautiful as the Cumbrian Mountains but in an altogether different way. I prayed for you all, that you were all tucked safely in your beds as it was only four a.m. your time, and I know you will be praying for me when it's ten o'clock there and tea time here.
The closing hymn this morning was my theme song, and I took it as a little gift from God: We who would valiant be let us not waiver/But in true constancy follow the savior./There's no discouragement shall make us once relent/Our first avowed intent/TO LIVE AS PILGRIMS. God bless you all.
posted by Deborah G. Celley at 7/03/2005 03:35:00 AM
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