Churches

One of the great things about being a Christian is that virtually anywhere you go in the world you can find a church to worship in and people to worship with. Another is that you are very unlikely to have the same experience twice, such is the heterogeneity of the Christian church and yet you always feel like you at least know the basic plot.

I have visited 3 churches in the last week. The first was the Rotunda of St. Martin (11th century) in the Vysehrad Castle grounds in Prague. I was walking past and heard what I thought was a sizeable choir singing plainsong. It turned out to be just a priest and 2 assistants celebrating mass but due to the smallness and acoustics of the venue (it seats about 10, 20 at a push) it sounded like many more. There were only 2 congregants and both looked like they were in their 70's. Reminded me of the Magna Carta song "Father John", about "Miss Pringle and Miss Prendergast and George who does the brass are there / to say the words they've said for twenty years and noone knows or cares." Which got me wondering whether it matters whether nobody knows or cares. Presumably God both knows and cares. The liturgy and song were in Czech so I didn't understand a word, (Latin would have been easier) but it was such a beautiful setting and the people looked so friendly and genuine, that I decided to stay and sat down. No sooner had I done so than the mass ended and they started packing away. Ah well, better luck next time - I should have read the notice on the door. Maybe it was the setting, maybe it was the people - but the place had an air of lightness, of joy, of sunniness, which made me happy.

The second was the Basilica of St Peter and St Paul, also at Vysehrad Castle, just down the road from the chapel. There was no service going on, but the church was open for visitors (at a price of 30 krone, about 1 euro, which I was glad to pay). The lady caretaker was a little late opening and appeared flustered and unhappy. Inside it was very ornate, beautiful, peaceful, but somehow seemed sad (to me at any rate). Maybe it was the absence of any worshippers or music. I read some of the displays - it seems that the place suffered a bad fire many years ago and had to be rebuilt. It also appeared as though many of the ancient treasures had disappeared in the years of Communist rule and those on display now were considerably less ancient and had mostly been donated from private collections. I felt a heaviness about the place and did not stay long. I wondered what those heavy walls have witnessed over the centuries. Rulers and their people thankfully celebrating God's providence after they return from a campaign, having successfully decimated and enslaved their enemies, or following the birth of a male heir to the throne, or maybe crying out in hopelessness for protection as invading armies advance? The walls were mute - clearly they were not going to yield their secrets to me.

Today I went to church three times. That is a record even for me! Well, not exactly. I attended Matins at Westminster Abbey at 10 a.m. and learned that there was an organ recital at 5.45 p.m., preceded by evensong at 3 p.m., so I figured what the heck, I may as well do both. I love all sacred choral music, but am particularly fond of English cathedral music, so this was like a three course meal, with all three courses being desert. I won't bore you with all tre details, but in the two services I heard music by Mendelssohn, Clucas, Turle, Vaughan Williams, Tomkins, Monsell, Ross, Leighton, Taverner (the 16th century one), Wesley and Vierne. It was sung by arguably one of England's finest choirs, accompanied by a world class organist playing one of the world's greatest instruments, in a stunning acoustic and in a setting which would surely lift the spirit of even the most miserable. The language of the liturgy was formal but not archaic and I found it beautiful to listen to. Added to that we had two well constructed, pithy, thought provoking (and short!) sermons by the resident canon, Robert Wright and later the head of theology at Christian Aid, Paula Clifford. As if that wasn't enough I also got to go to the recital by James McVinnie, assistant organist (how can anyone that good be an "assistant"?) He played works by Bach, Ross and Escaich. Ross, a contemporary British composer, is a mere 23 years old. What talent! Having thus gorged myself, I left feeling strangely elated. On the way out, I thanked the Canon for including Jacob Zuma, Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu in the prayers of intercession during evensong. Seems like the Brits spend more time praying for our president than we do!