A common query from brethren when they enquire about my life is whether I am doing anything about collective worship. It’s a double-edged question, as it both unthinkable for them to refrain from that and to accept any other communal worship than their own. Normally I don’t give a straight answer, as I think it isn’t any of their business (but I’m too polite to say so). Actually, I have thought it would be too weird and unsettling to do anything of the kind.
However, opportunity and inclination combined this last weekend. And, starting at the top, I “went to church” in the Chapel Royal at Hampton Court Palace. It was very different.
For a start, the setting is such that you would have to pay to get in if there wasn’t a service on. It’s grand, highly decorated, and has the air of a museum as much as a church. I should imagine there would always be plenty to look at if there was a boring sermon going on. Frescos, carvings, a vaulted and painted ceiling, candle-holders, stained glass … anything except people, most of the time, as the pews are more like boxes and from a sitting position you can only see the tops of other people’s heads, if that. It’s a bit like a virtual reality simulation, in which you’re surrounded by the sights and sounds of worship without feeling part of something particularly personal. Fortunately there was a personal touch in the elderly gentleman sitting next to us, who kindly helped out by indicating the right places to stand and sit and where to look in the books provided – a hymnal, traditional version of the Book of Common Prayer, and a booklet of services for the month of November.
What really surprised me, though, was the extent of the musical component.
There was a little bit of speech, and a tiny amount of that was unscripted. The remainder of the speaking was either scripture or set texts. By far the bulk of the service was singing, though, and the singing was, for want of a better word, antique. But extraordinary. Even sections which had no music were declaimed in a kind of chant. It was one of few days in the year (apparently) where there were women in the choir, as the boys had a day off, and the whole lot were fervent and professional. Actually, if I’m honest, the music rather detracted from the spiritual aspect, purely because it was very difficult to follow the words without reading along, and even then there was a lot of classical-music license with repetition and odd phrasing. Lack of understanding doesn’t boost fervency, at least for me. As a concert, though, it would have been worth quite a lot in spite of being free. It was first-class music, performed beautifully.
And the spiritual aspect? Mixed, I'd say. It was probably an unfair test for me, as everything was so new and dramatically different that it would have needed an angel's trump to draw my attention to the religion specifically. I was too involved just taking everything in.
But there were a couple of things that occurred to me. The first was that it was surprisingly touching to hear familiar pieces of biblical text read aloud. They are firmly embedded in my head and, reasonably or not, I love some of those texts. I don't think you need to be religious to believe that parts of the Bible are very wise and great literature to boot, and having been brought up on something not too far different to the KJV, I was quite moved by hearing them.
The second was that there is another side to the old brethren dismissal of organised religion, saying that prepared texts and routine is not real worship. I still have some sympathy for that view, as something in me thinks less of a service without real participation or spontaneity. However, I could see that there is a certain benefit to knowing in advance what will be said, and the points that will be emphasised, and the words that will be sung. What is lost in immediacy can be gained in depth if the congregation can avoid the temptation to sit back and let it wash over them. It could be said to be more humble to accept that somebody in the past has said something better than we can say it at the time, and by repeating and considering those words, we take something from them that is more than we can find within ourselves.
Having said all that, our helpful companion and his wife were really there for the music, and I suspect not many of those present were really wishing for any kind of transcendental experience. And nor was I, exactly, as my religious inclinations remain private these days. But I enjoyed what there was, as did the new acquaintance we took along who is a Polish Catholic far from his family and needing companionship. He normally attends a Catholic church, and I was surprised to hear from him that there was more pomp, ritual and music on this occasion than he was used to, either, by far. Interesting.
It all made an interesting contrast to the night before, too, when we went to a staging of the musical Sweeney Todd in which a friend was performing. That was great for an amateur production. And which event would the brethren worry about more, I wonder? I'm honestly not sure.
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4 comments:
To an ex-EB, “What are you doing about collective worship?” is rather like “Have you stopped beating your wife?” Either you don’t go to church (oh horror!) or else you do go (oh horror of horrors!).
On the other hand, if they criticise a particular church that you have attended, then it is they who are on a sticky wicket, because you can give a long list of advantages of that church relative to the Brethren. They have a better understanding of the Bible and of Christianity; they welcome and encourage scholarship; their music is better; they show more evidence of loving their neighbour; they have a more realistic and humble attitude to doctrinal disputes; they try to help the needy and the outcasts of society, and so on, and so on.
I suspect that if you were to tell them that you had joined a [legitimate] church, it would be the final nail in the coffin. You would be withdrawn from forthwith and the periodic priestly visits would come to a halt.
One of the "advantages" which Ian overlooked is that you can go freely into other churches to participate in, or just observe, worship. There is no requirement for a passport of suitability to enter - no request that you telephone the churchwardens or elders first; no demand that you have a meeting with three male priests before permission to attend can be given; no stated dress code which requires men not to wear ties and women to wear skirts and a head covering.
And once in the church building, women and men, children and young people can all sit together during the service, as you discovered.
Come to think about it, churches today are rather like the early Brethren meetings were in the late 1820s and the 1830s - before John Darby stamped his divisive ecclesiastical requirements on the little flock.
I can't say I felt I belonged at the church I attended this time, so I wouldn't worry much about criticism except that it would be in ignorance. And that proves the point about being able to "try before you buy", so to speak.
However, some of the benefits stated are a bit wide of the mark in this case. There was definitely an unofficial dress code. There were wardens on the gate to OK entry. And most of the congregation was divided between male and female seating areas - it just so happens we opted for the "family box". As I said, this was an exceptionally traditional church.
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