Mersea Island

All pictures taken during my visit to Mersea island.

Mersea Island St Edmund King & Martyr | National Churches Trust

During a recent holiday on Mersea Island with the rest of the family the wife and I attended a Sunday service at the church of St Edmunds in West Mersea - see the picture above. The church is in the South of the Island a few yards from the coast. The island can only be accessed by a causeway subject to periodic tidal flooding. When one alights from the causeway at low tide St Edmunds is on the opposite side of an island which at the widest is about 7 km across.  Although Mersea island is not far from London these circumstances give St Edmunds that cut-off back-of-the-beyond atmosphere, an atmosphere which also pervades Happisburgh and Terice House in Cornwall.

St. Edmund's, Nave and Chancel

The fabric of the church displays evidence of a long history of change, structural improvisations and innovations. The north aisle is separated from the main nave by a colonnade of relatively spindly perpendicular columns; this aisle may well be a lean-too extension constructed post-black-death to accommodate an expanding population; add-on aisles, along with perpendicular replacement windows. are a feature of many rural churches.

St Edmund's disused pulpit

During the service the minister stood in front of the congregation with a lectern as might a minister in a non-conformist church. But in times past the priest would have occupied the old wooden pulpit displaced to one side, which like a sentry box guarded the chancel end of the church, the holy domain of the priesthood and the dispensation point of the holy sacraments. To non-conformists like myself the division between laity and clergy is alien. But that doesn't mean that it is without merit, especially given the feudal context of a largely illiterate and hard worked serf population. For them theology was built into the spatial configuration of the church, in its artwork and of course taught by the literate clergy. The latter was a dangerous undemocratic arrangement, but a lot more social, political and technical development was needed before this could be changed: One wonders if today's evangelical celebrity culture of so-called "anointed" patriarchs is any less dangerous.   

The downsides of the feudal priesthood are offset somewhat by the eloquent symbolism in the fabric & ritual found in these mediaeval churches. The communicant's attention is drawn to the centrality of Christ's sacrificial work, expressed by the positioning of the chancel where the tokens of Christ's sacrificial suffering are celebrated. The rituals in the chancel are assumed to be so holy that only an ordained priest can serve in that area. This practice does cut across the priesthood of all believers (1 Peter 2:9) but it is a far cry from the days of the pagan temples where an image of the divine represented by an idol stood in what is now the chancel. These idols would very likely depict figures of strength, power and glory; the very opposite of what we find in medieval churches which celebrate a self-humbling servant God and the vulnerability & martyrdom of his disciples like St Edmund. 

St Edmund's east-end-stained glass showing
Christ-child, Mary and cross-cultural worshippers

Behind the altar Cross at St Edmunds is the usual large colourful stained-glass window, in this case depicting Mary and her holy baby, the creator of all things (Col 1:15ff) contracted to the humble frame of an infant. This is the omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresence creator who in his desire to serve and save surpassed all conceivable limits of self-denial. Sacrificial self-denial is the central theme of Christianity, and the material fabric and rituals of these old churches attempt to convey this message; but one needs to know how to read it.

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We also visited the church of St Peter and St Paul in West Mersea. This was another lesson in the  meekness of God.  A neat and attractive yew tree lined path leads to the north-door.....

Path leading to St Peter's and St Paul's

The entrance opens up on a clean and well-kept interior....

St Peter's and St Paul's nave and chancel.

Hanging over the entrance to the chancel is a large crucifix...

St Peter's and St Paul's crucifix

This image doesn't wallow in the awful bloody physical realities of crucifixion - if did it would be a distraction. But the pathos of the slumped body of Christ sufficiently conveys what it needs to convey; namely, the passion and compassion of a God who suffers for His creation. These verses in the book of Colossians tells us why....

 For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross. (Colossians 1:19-20)

The entrance to the medieval equivalent of the holy of holies, the chancel, is guarded by this image of a suffering God: One should not enter the holy of holies from which the grace of communion is served without cognizance of the Crucifix and what it means. Once one has entered this sacred area one then looks up at the rich stained-glass window of the east-end and sees the glorified risen Christ, clothed in the sumptuous robes of The Only King worthy of the name. (See picture below and also Phil 2:1-11). All this proves that imagery is not necessarily idolatry: An image is idolatrous when it is the depository of a corrupt concept of God; take away the image and the distorted concept of God it represents remains and so does the idolatry. We all have a distorted image of God to a greater or lesser extent, and that's why pointing to Jesus short cuts the risks of the idolatry we are prone to promote; see Hebrews 1:1ff. There is nothing wrong in imagery per se, provided it points us to the express image of Jesus (John 1:18, 5:37, 14:9).

At St Edmunds the east-end-stained-glass depicted Jesus as a
helpless babe-in-arms, but at the east end of St Peter's and
 St Paul's we see a post-cross glorified risen Jesus. 

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In these old churches we see part of the long process of the civilization of a barbaric humanity: Gone were the overbearing easily offended deities of paganism who jealously guarded their power, glory, status and reputation much as a human dictator (e.g. Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin) might. Jesus turned these pagan values on their heads and showed us what Deity, Real Deity was about. The war-like pagans of the northwest miraculously started to celebrate vulnerability, naming their churches after Saints like St Edmund who were martyred for their divine King. Even the Vikings who killed St Edmund eventually Christianized and frequently named their churches after the martyred patron Saint of Sailors, St Clement.  It's a remarkable history, but let's be clear; there is still a very long way to go to complete the civilization of humanity, and both left-wing and right-wing dictatorships are forever waiting in the wings for an opportunity and remain a risk to civilization, and Christianity.   

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Attending the traditional service in the medieval churches of the UK is like going back in time. For me this feeling of time travel was particularly strong during the service at St Edmunds as we read out the age-old liturgy from printed sheets. Medieval congregations would of course not have had printed sheets to read and wouldn't have been able to read them even if they had. In those distant times the laity would have had to recite the liturgy Sunday by Sunday from memory. This, along with the symbolism and imagery in the church, was the way to teach an illiterate peasant congregation about salvation. 

Medieval Christianity was highly authoritarian and top down, but ours is a world of dynamic continuity; the logic of society was such that it wasn't ready for a more politically participatory community. A culture of finite beings can't absorb everything at once but instead goes through a series of learning stages. For human beings the unfolding of revelation is the unfolding of time. Time exists because revelation is necessarily a sequenced affair. The division between laity and clergy is easily abused and was abused in medieval times. But it seems that a pre-renascence, pre-print, illiterate feudal society had little choice but to pass through this primitive stage of social & political development, not to mention the need for the technical developments which were to revolutionize society. 

Cosmopolitan Reading

 

I haven't heard that everyone is beating a path to see the sights in the City of Reading (Berkshire, UK), but we did a quick visit there recently and like all historic towns discovered that it has its points of great interest.

The town hall is a typical piece of over-the-top Victoriana, but a very interesting & imposing structure for that. (See picture above). The streets we walked down were of similar vintage but personally I find that the colorful modern shop fronts clash with the sober Victorian/Edwardian style of their upper stories, thus giving the contrasting retail ground floors a rather gaudy look.

The pictures below are from Norman and Romanesque Reading where a peaceful quietus reigns away from the street hustle and bustle and where the Abbey ruins contrast with the anonymous and soulless buildings of commerce.

But what struck me most about Reading was its cosmopolitan feel: People from just about all continents populated its streets. It is so cosmopolitan that I would say it's Babel in reverse, which is probably a good thing; provided people live and work together peacefully in a shared democratic environment where justice reigns.

Wollaton Hall, Nottingham

Wollaton Hall is the atmospheric context of a very interesting 

natural history display. I can recommend a visit. 

After my last post on the homely Elizabethan Trerice House in Cornwall I thought I'd post on the very contrasting stately home, Wollaton Hall, which is also Elizabethan, but by intention far from homely. It classifies as a "prodigy house", that is house which self-consciously wallows in its very contrived grandeur. Blickling Hall, where I worked for three very pleasant years, classified as a prodigy house. (See also Hatfield House, by the same architect). Stately homes in this category are intended to be awe inspiring rather than homely. If the sense of awe they generate comes at the price of mixing in a little fear and intimidation then so be it: The owners of these houses wanted their high status to be all too apparent regardless of any accompanying sense of discomfort these houses engender; if anything, a little fear enhances the feeling of awe & respect; ask any dictator. 

Wollaton Hall can be reached by a climbing the rise on which it is situated. As no doubt intended its profile dominates the surrounding landscape (see above). As one closes in on it the rich ornamentation of its facade becomes very striking: If that ornamentation looks ostentatious to the viewer, then it has probably achieved its purpose of manipulating the feelings of the visitor: The Hall shouts wealth and status at the expense of any negative feelings one might have about the mood it conveys.  It is not built to primarily make friends with the viewer, but at all costs to impress even if that evokes a sense of being over-awed. Rich and powerful people tread a very a precarious path that runs temptingly close to assuming demigod status. 

Just inside the entrance of the palace is a very lofty hall of equal grandeur: Its elaborate ceiling bosses are surrounded by grotesques which peer down at the visitor giving the first inkling that this could be a spooky place; in fact, the Hall makes claim to being the haunt of several ghosts. 

The Hall is now a natural history museum, and it is atmospheric enough to serve well as the setting for one of those "A night in the museum" thrillers, where fearful exhibits start to stir in the darkness!

It was very appropriate then that we came on the day that a special exhibition had been laid on: In fact, we had come to the Hall to see this monster......

T-Rex lunges at his next victim!

... the real bones of a gigantic T-Rex. More than 65 million years ago these now fossilized bones were running around terrorizing the population of lesser dinosaurs. For a T-Rex to grow to these dimensions it must have cost the lives of many other dinosaurs; how many dinosaur hides had those wicked looking teeth sunk themselves into?  Like the original owners of Wollaton Hall he was at the top of his game; he was not called "Rex" for nothing!

It was easy to imagine T-Rex roaming the corridors and large rooms of Wollaton Hall (although doorways would pose a problem!). In terms of size human constructions have far exceeded dinosaurian scales and yet in comparison even these scales pale on the cosmic stage. Moreover, the immense tracts of cosmic time make the 165-million-year reign of "the grotesque saurians, the huge brutes of Jurassic times"* look to be very ephemeral. The apparently pointless long reign of saurian survival hangs over any curious theist as an enigma.

Like Wollaton Hall the cosmos is an awesome, spooky, even a frightening place, intimidating in its size & detail and yet paradoxically beautiful at the same time. It is no wonder the general populace are having trouble making anthropic sense of it all  Ways of cutting the gordian knot quickly are sought for: Some throw their hands up in disbelief, resorting to explanations of sheer chance and believe the cosmos has no anthropic significance. Cranky Christian popularist sects, unable to come to terms with cosmic dimensions, have cosified it with those incredible shrinking doctrines of young earthism (and even flat earthism) and sought assurance, security and above all certainty by running after authoritarian, presumptuous, delusional and even corrupt leaders who tell them what they want to hear.

As for me I find I can't be too hard on either atheist or the average cranky cult Christian: Both are understandable intellectual short-cuts given the tricky questions that are part of the human predicament; these are reactions which in my view are completely undeserving of the traditional hell.  So, it's over to you God; it's your problem not mine.  

Footnote:

*The Time Machine, The Epilogue, by H G Wells.

Relevant Link:

TheRiddleOfTheSphinx.pdf - Google Drive

Trerice House, Cornwall

The south front of Trerice house.

 It's been sometime since I've posted on a visit to a stately home: Those days seemed to have long-faded since I left my National Trust retirement job at Blickling hall in 2010. The cares of the world around me, about which I can do nothing but comment, have rather weighed on me recently!  It was therefore a balm at the beginning of May to visit the obscure National Trust property in Cornwall called "Trerice House".  It's really too small to do justice the name "Stately Home", but its unassuming size, obscurity and a location which is only accessed down narrow sunken Cornish roads, give it that "away from it all" atmosphere. Not surprisingly, then, my mind has often returned to our afternoon in the peaceful tranquility of Trerice house. 

The gardens and the west wing

The main south facing "E" shaped wing of the house was built in the 1570s, in Elizabethan times (Hence the "E" shape, apparently), but it was, in fact, an extension of an earlier and less grand manor house (and/or farmhouse) to the west of what is now the main building. After a succession of absentee landlords and a period of neglect the east side of the "E-wing" collapsed in the 1860s but was restored by the National Trust (thanks in part to the generosity of its tenant Mr. Jack Elton) after they bought the house in 1953.

The great hall

As one enters the property through the "screens passage" one finds a door on the left which gives entrance to a classic great-hall illuminated by a huge south facing window of 576 panes of glass, many of which are the original rippled glass. The plaster work on the ceiling is very fine and dates to the 1570s but has been restored in the 1840s giving it a very crisp and new appearance contrasting with the generally well used and aged appearance of the house as a whole. Over the years the house has been pulled around, extended and changed and a tour by an architectural archeologist while we were there pointed out all the anomalies that are evidence of the chops and changes of a property evolving to fit the demands of the day.

Unlike those much larger and grand stately houses Trerice felt like a real home. One reason for this may be because I live in a Victorian Terraced house whose layout, like Trerice, is on the line of lineal development of the time honored one room house of ancient times: In times gone by everyone lived in one-roomed huts & houses, or if one was of high status, they were big enough to be called "halls", a space where everything, from socializing, cooking and sleeping took place. Eventually rooms were added on to the main living space of the hall; kitchens, pantries and private rooms. As wealth increased the chimney came along splitting many halls into a parlor and dining room. My own Victorian terraced house still has this vestigial configuration with the parlor as the front room and the dinning room at the back, both rooms separated by outsized back-to-back chimney stacks that were once the main source of heating for the house. 

As Sir Kenneth Clarke said in part 7 of his Civilization series (Grandeur and Obedience) "I wonder if a single thought which has helped forward the human spirit has ever been conceived or written down in an enormous room". Trerice house is small enough, homely enough and cozy enough to be a house that encourages thought especially on a dark winter night on the Cornish peninsular when the huge canopy of the night sky is studied with stars, the clouds of the Milky Way are shining and there is a bright fire in the grate.

The plaster work on the ceiling of the hall