Diary of a church mouse
After his father’s funeral, Matthew Rice finally felt that the parish church was his own–but how best to make this true for everyone, he wonders
Matthew Rice has embraced his local parish church
IN common with most of the country, I don’t attend my parish church except on Christmas Day. As it happens, I’m a regular worshipper elsewhere and not an atheist, but, until recently, I’ve been a stranger in my local church—despite the view from my house being dominated by its powerful Saxon tower and soaring steeple supported by the four Apostles. I am— or have become—the rat despised by John Betjeman’s hero in the poem Diary of a Church Mouse for visiting only when the harvest festival affords comfort or sustenance: ‘But how annoying when one finds/that other mice with pagan minds/ Come into church my food to share/who have no proper business there.’
Two years ago, my father died and, although neither of us was on the electoral roll, our request for the funeral to take place in church was greeted with kindness and enthusiasm. Preparations followed and, with much brandishing of lilies, narcissi, plum blossom and flickering candles, the church became, for 24 hours, the very epicentre of our whole family’s life. I look at the church entirely differently now. It has become, in part, mine. ‘But of course,’ I can hear the grinding of teeth. ‘Of course, it has—it’s the parish church!’ True, but how much ownership does a whole parish actually feel for its church and could my experience be reproduced throughout the community?
The imaginary village of Blackmere is large, with 700 people living there. A congregation of 40 attends morning service, expanding at Easter and Christmas to some 100. But what of the 600 others? Most of them fill in the census form as Church of England, but never enter St Andrew’s. Might they have felt more connection if they knew that their rites of passage and those of their friends could be celebrated there— every wedding and every funeral, not to mention a baptism or two?
In our mobile and deracinated lives, the choice of where these events are celebrated is complex and the church is perceived as having a lot of restrictions, including residency qualifications. What if none of this applied? What if the church, the building, was, in effect, a licensed wedding venue? What if secular celebrations were performed in the nave, if naming ceremonies, memorials and, of course, weddings were welcome in any form?
The nave is, after all, in part a secular space—there would be a sporting chance that, with the permission of the parish priest, a registrar might find themself marrying two gay atheists, for their second marriage… in a church.
What would be the result of this outrageous blossoming of marriages every week, all these weddings in the place they have been celebrated for 1,000 years—the place in which grandparents were baptised, married and buried?
Would there, in fact, be any downside? Unruly behaviour? We have all been to nonchurch weddings—they are dignified. The registrars seem, like undertakers, to be performing their own, secular ministry and to be doing so with considerable presence and grace.
Might there be some challenge to the sacred nature of the church? Well, if it can survive craft fairs, guitar concerts and quiz nights, it will surely get over the shock of two lovers marrying within sight of the altar. The chancel, that sacred space, would be out of bounds, but I believe that a wedding celebrated in God’s house must be a good second best to one that calls on him directly.
Back to the building—and to the village of Blackmere. If the idea took off, within 10 years, all 600 non-churchgoers would have been at least twice. They just might all feel that St Andrew’s is really their own, theirs for the asking and part of the fabric of their lives. Those most faithful of churchgoers, the cleaners and flower ladies, would know that they’re looking after the church for everyone.
In addition, there would be some welcome fees, a valuable source of financial support for a stretched parish budget. Those new parishioners might even support the churchroof or organ appeal. And after driving or walking past the church, looking out of their window or hearing the bells, they might, one day, become the congregation.
‘How much ownership does a parish actually feel for its church?’