Religion In The Ruins

October 20, 1985
Lakeland

November 24, 1985
Port Charlotte

May 20, 2000
Musings

The expressions of religion are a series of contrasts and contradictions. Visits to some of England’s famous cathedrals and churches strengthened that belief. Thomas Jefferson wrote after visiting the cathedral at Milan, Italy, “a worthy object of philosophical contemplation to be placed among the rarest instances of the misuse of money.” (Malone, Vol II, p. 123) When one visits the cathedrals with their Gothic arches or is grasped by the beauty of the spire of Salisbury Cathedral, thrusting 430 feet skyward above the impressive Gothic church, set amid the green beauty of the cathedral close, surely Jefferson was insensitive to the ways such beauty and architectural power can stir the deep dimensions of our wistful hopes.

Yet, these ancient religious centers of worship were built in times of human misery we can but dimly perceive in the world today. Beyond the kings, lords, dukes and their toadies and favorites, the mass of people’s lives were as someone wrote, “nasty, brutal, and short.” And, without hope of improving their lot in life.

Today these magnificent cathedrals and churches would be in ruins except for tourists. Nearly every cathedral I visited was in some process of expensive repair and maintenance. Scaffolding on towering spires, roped-off areas where a floor was being replaced, or shoring up crumbling pillars, etc.

Without exception, there was either an entrance fee or a voluntary collection box with signs indicating that £100,000 per year or £250,000 per year were necessary to maintain the cathedral or to prevent it from falling down. The busiest places were not the altars, but the postcard and gift shops. There, sales were brisk to visitors who, in Myles Kingston’s words, were “probably 90% agnostic in the nicest possible way.”

Therefore, in narrating some of contrasts and contradictions, my objective is not to be frivolous or demeaning to the religions of the people of the United Kingdom. Rather, the observations will lead to the question, what is essential in the experiences, rituals, and beliefs that gather under the large umbrella named “religion”?

One whimsical item I picked up ... reported “bats in the belfry, for generations, a hazardous peculiarity of church life in England, have brought work to an abrupt halt in Methodist chapel rafters in Ipplepen. The rare species of bat is protected by law. Pastor Kenneth Hext observed, ‘I had no idea we had bats up there. We have only seen one in the church before, and it was driven crazy by a group of children who were singing modern hymns.’” (RNS)

That English people participate very little in religious services has been known for a long time. Some observers thought that such lack of participation was a characteristic of life in the large urban centers, but that in the villages, people were still loyal to the parish church. However, a recent study suggests that Church of England in the countryside faces extinction. The report noted that “average church congregations numbered around 20, and in some cases a single individual joined the priest in worship. Only 6 services in the Deanery studied found more than 20 in the congregation, six had five or less; and nine had between six and ten .... 2/3 of the congregants were women, and almost 2/3rds over 60. There were no children or young people at 16 of 24 services visited by the surveyor.” (Christian Century, 10/2/85)

Another survey done by the Princeton Research Center (Gallup) produced an interesting divergence among Western nations. To the survey question, “Do you take some moments of prayer or meditation or contemplation or something like that,” the response in the United States was 86% yes, 14% no. Great Britain, 10th place, answered 50% yes, 50% no. (FREE INQUIRY, Fall 1985, p. 67).

To the question, “Do you find that you get comfort and strength from religion or not?”, the United States again was first, [with] 79% answering yes; 17% no, and 4% no opinion. Great Britain, 8th on the list, answered 46% yes, 49% no, and 5% don't know.

The simplest response is that the people of the United States are about twice as religious as the people of Great Britain. But as I shall attempt to develop later, the simplest answers can be wrong.

Three times I was present in churches when they were crowded with people – but the occasions were concerts, not religious services. Superb choirs and musicians rendered some of the great compositions of the English heritage – music inspired by the religious and music composed for royal occasions, such as coronations.

One might conclude that there is high interest in music and low interest in religion. But that's another conclusion that is both simple and wrong. For the corollary of such a conclusion is that music is religious only when it is an accessory to a mass, or prayers, or sermons. I, and many of you here, have been transported to realms beyond thought by Beethoven, or your favorite composer, without benefit of clergy or church. [CJW note: Beatles]

Attending Evensong in historic and impressive Salisbury Cathedral, a superior boy's choir provided a fine musical experience. Several Anglican priests intoned ritual sentences and read from the scriptures. But although thousands could have been comfortably seated in the nave, as there were only 25 or 30 people in addition to the choir and priests, all of us were seated in the choir. I'm sure too that most of the attendees were tourists like ourselves. I'm also sure that if at that time the boy's choir gave a concert without the Church of England ritual for Evensong, attendance would have [been] 10 times, even 20 times larger. Again, for the moment, no easy generalizations which could be quite wrong.

A few more impressions of contrasts and contradictions. After a stirring concert by the large, splendidly trained choral group of the Birmingham Symphony [CJW note: given in St. Mary's Church, Warwick], we wandered into the Memorial Chapel of the Dukes of Warwick. The sculpture and architecture were examples of ancient skill, devotion, and creativity. Central in the chapel was the tomb of Richard Beauchamp, his sculptured effigy on the tomb. His hands are folded gently; his carved face, tranquil.

Reflecting on this impressive monument, I would not help but think that this Richard Beauchamp, Duke of Warwick, was the commander of English forces during that period in the Hundred Years War with France, when Joan of Arc made her brief, blazing, and still mysterious impact on history. When the Burgundians captured Joan, Warwick bought her from the Burgundians. The church put her on trial, found her guilty of heresy, turned her over to Warwick, and the English burned her at the stake.

Another instance – one of the readings was from the prologue to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. For hundreds of years after Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury killed in the cathedral, pilgrims made their way to Canterbury to offer gifts at the shrine of Thomas Becket, many of them hoping for miraculous cures, alleged sometimes to happen at his shrine.

When Henry VIII split from the Church of Rome, he dismantled the shrine of Thomas Becket, appropriating the vast wealth of gold and jewels which had accumulated through centuries of hopeful, worshiping pilgrims. As I stood by the simple marble memorial in the floor which marks the spot where Becket died, another contradiction crossed my mind.

Henry II, King of England, has been tagged as the villain who ordered his knights to assassinate Becket. Becket is a sainted, historical martyr. Even in modern times, the pilgrims arrive. Archbishop Temple (1821 – 1902) stated, “it is the bounded duty of every English-speaking man and woman to visit Canterbury at least twice in their lives.”

Yet, in historical perspective, Henry II was correct in his stand on the bitter dispute with Becket. Henry II was one of the English monarchs who fostered advances in the legal system, a legal system which is the foundation of our own. Henry II promoted the Constitutions of Clarendon, which would weaken the power of church courts. Up to then, if one was connected with the church, he was exempt from trial in the civil courts for criminal acts. They could be tried only in the church courts. Prelates, priests, clerks, musicians, even thousands of students who could recite a little Latin were exempt from trial in the civil courts.

Henry II wanted to abolish this “benefit of clergy,” as it was called, and Becket was adamantly opposed. Becket's death delayed the provisions of the Constitutions of Clarendon, but eventually they became law. Becket had the benefit of poetry, martyrdom, sainthood, and myth, including T. S. Eliot's MURDER IN THE CATHEDRAL. However, historically we are all better off because all persons are equally responsible to civil and criminal courts. But there is no pilgrim's shrine for Henry II.

I have talked of contrasts and contradictions and could refer to more. Although the references have been to England, a visitor to the U.S. could compile a long list of contrasts and contradictions. How would a visitor to Lakeland appraise organized religion if he visited us and did not visit First Assembly with its 10,000 seats? Or visit Orlando's First Baptist numbering 8,000 members with a new $16 million plant and not know about Friends' Meeting or First Unitarian? Or visit no churches but turn on the TV in the hotel room and be exposed to Oral Roberts, Ernest Angley, Jerry Falwell or Jimmy Swaggart? What generalizations would be valid?

All the experiences I have had to point to religion as an inner condition, not an external display, however sanctified by dogma and traditions. I value the externals of our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship:

The joy of our gatherings in friendship
The stimulation of our free and uninhibited dialogues and discussions
Our shared responsibilities for management, policies, and directions
Our mutual contributions of talents, ideas, music, convictions, and dividing of necessary chores.

But these I value because they cohere with the ongoing inner search for convictions that may make me both a better person than I am and a more useful citizen in the vast and complex world of which I am a part. In my better moments, I do not disparage those whose inner condition has different external expressions – the Mass, the creed, the evangelical convictions, the Torah. Expressions from the inner core radiate in different directions.

Similarly, if the organized expression of religion is dwindling in the U.K., – as all observations confirm – the English people are not going to pieces morally. There is politeness and cordiality to strangers; they are as much concerned about the lot of the poor and sick as we are, in some instances, more so. They, too, are aware of the perils of our divided world. Their art, music, and drama is creative and inspirational.

But as Emerson wrote, “If religion be the doing of all good, and for its sake the suffering of all evil, ... that divine secret has existed in England from the days of Alfred to those of Romilly, of Clarkson, and of Florence Nightingale, and in thousands who have no fame.”

The externals of religion are always interesting, many times fascinating. But the inner condition of our minds and emotions, the goals we seek, the love we express, are the better part even when externals may fall into ruins.

The new Coventry Cathedral, built after the older one was bombed out in WWII, is an overwhelming experience of art, modern architecture, and stained glass. One feels a universal spirit of triumph after disaster, of hope over despair.

If you can visit only one cathedral in England, my advice is: pass up the old ones and experience Coventry.

Among other aesthetic treasures in the nave is a modern metal sculpture, “The Plumb Line and City,” a gift from an American church and created by Clark Fitzgerald, an artist from Maine. The scriptural reference is to the ethical prophet, Amos, who has a vision of the Lord holding a plumb line. The plumb line tells the carpenter whether the work in progress is true and square.

When religion as an inner condition guides or pushes a person to be truer to self and square with others, other externals are much less important.